The War Chronicles: Cold War
by Brihna
Summary: With Lucian gone, Mitchell works to take command of the local vampire clan in an attempt to restore order. Meanwhile, George struggles to restore order in his own life as he attempts to tame the Wolf with the help of a new friend. - Sequel to "Uprising," part 2 of 3 in The War Chronicles series. AU.
1. Prologue: Hopeless Wanderer

**_Greetings readers! I know some of you have been waiting a while for this, so I'll save the bulk of the AN for the end. I just needed to clarify something for timeline purposes that I forgot to point out when I originally posted _Uprising._ That story, as well as the main events of this one, take place in 2009 in keeping with the timeline on the show. Just wanted to clear that up. So, without further ado, I present the first chapter of _Cold War.**

**_Enjoy!_**

* * *

**Prologue: Hopeless Wanderer**

**_I wrestled long with my youth  
We tried so hard to live in the truth  
But do not tell me all is fine  
When I lose my head, I lose my spine_**

**_So leave that click in my head_**  
**_And I will remember the words that you said_**  
**_You brought me out from the cold_**  
**_Now, how I long, how I long to grow old_**

**_So when your hope's on fire_**  
**_But you know your desire_**  
**_Don't hold a glass over the flame_**  
**_Don't let your heart grow cold_**  
**_I will call you by name_**  
**_I will share your road_**

**_Hold me fast, Hold me fast_**  
**_'Cause I'm a hopeless wanderer_**  
**_Hold me fast, Hold me fast_**  
**_'Cause I'm a hopeless wanderer_**  
**_And I will learn, I will learn to love the skies I'm under_**  
**_And I will learn, I will learn to love the skies I'm under_**  
**_The skies I'm under_**

**_- Hopeless Wanderer by Mumford & Sons_**

* * *

_Scotland - Spring 2008_

Andrew Monahan walked the quiet streets of a small village on the outskirts of Edinburgh late one afternoon. As he came to yet another unfamiliar cross street, he glanced down at the map in his hands with a sigh. He was usually much better at directions than this. Of all the times to get turned around; it was a full moon tonight and he needed to get out of town.

Andy gave up on the map and shoved it back in his rucksack. He looked up and down the street before spotting a small cafe in the row of buildings to his left. It seemed to him to be the only place that was really occupied on this quiet street at the moment. Deciding he didn't have further time to waste being lost, he shifted his rucksack on his shoulder and ducked inside.

The cafe turned out to be more of a diner, at least as the interior style appeared, and the only patrons were a group of young men huddled in a booth toward the back. They looked up as Andy walked in the door and something in their gaze made him feel uneasy. He quickly brushed it off, chiding himself for his general tendency to distrust people, and instead turned his attention to the young waitress approaching from the back.

"Afternoon," she greeted, tossing her hair over her shoulder and giving him a warm smile.

"Hello," he replied, suddenly feeling rather sheepish. "I'm afraid I'm a little lost. I was wondering if you could help me?"

"Well, judging from your accent, I'd say you're a long way from home," she answered kindly. "Where are you headed?"

"Pentland Hills."

"Ah," she said, "doing a bit of sightseeing then?"

"Yeah, I'm an outdoor kind of guy," he answered with a grin. "Thought I'd check it out."

She nodded. "Well, you'll need to get out of the village to start with."

Andy laughed. "That's what I was aiming for."

"Don't worry, you're not too far off," she said encouragingly.

The waitress proceeded to rattle off a complicated series of turn by turn directions that had Andy more confused than he was when he came in. He talked through it with her, and eventually got around to figuring out which way he was going. Once he felt confident, he thanked the waitress and headed out of the cafe.

He had walked a couple of blocks when Andy started to get the uneasy feeling that he was being followed. He glanced behind him and could see no sign of a single person on the street. When he turned back around, his path was blocked by three figures that definitely hadn't been standing there a second ago. Andy stopped a few feet away and squared his shoulders.

"Is there something I can help you with?" He addressed the men in front of him, realizing belatedly that these were the same men he saw in the cafe earlier.

"Did you hear that, Eric," said the tall man with the thick London accent, nudging the person beside him. "The Aussie wants to know if he can help us."

Andy fought the urge to roll his eyes at the comment. Though, he didn't expect these idiots to be able to tell an Australian from a Kiwi accent. They probably couldn't even find New Zealand on a map, but he didn't exactly feel like wasting time educating them on the matter.

"Look," he began, standing his ground. "I don't want any trouble. And unless you want this evening to end very badly for you, you'll let me pass."

The three laughed and the one called Eric took a step forward. "I'm afraid you're wrong about that," he answered. "Like it or not, trouble has found you."

He flashed a grin, revealing abnormally pointed canines, and Andy bit back a curse. _You idiot,_ he berated himself, _you should have known._

All pretense lost, Andy dropped his pack as he began the Change. His hands began to stretch into wicked claws and his canines extended. Before they could react, he launched himself at the vampires, claws outstretched.

The three barely managed to dodge the swiping claws in their surprise at this turn of events, but they recovered quickly. As one, the vampires threw themselves at the Changing werewolf, bringing Andy to the ground.

"Shit!" One of them shouted as they struggled to contain him. "How is he Changing already?"

"I don't care," Eric shouted back, "put an end to it!"

As Andy struggled against his assailants, he was suddenly overwhelmed by an intense pain as something hard and heavy came down on his head. Then the world went black.

* * *

When he opened his eyes, Andy found himself lying on the cold concrete floor of a small room with a single high window that was much too small to be any use. He sat up slowly, rubbing the back of his throbbing head as he tried to bring the world back into focus.

Before he could recover, the door opposite him suddenly burst open and two vampires strode into the room. They seized him by the arms, yanking him to his feet, and all but dragged him from the room.

As he stumbled out into the light and down a flight of stairs, he shook his head to try and clear the buzzing in his ears. As he rounded the corner into a large open space in the center of the building, he realized the sound wasn't in his ears, it was _voices_. There were dozens of vampires gathered around the room and in the dead center was a large metal enclosure.

Andy struggled against his captors, digging his heels in as they dragged him further into the rom. His resistance only earned him a punch to the stomach as they finally reached the cage and the vampires flung the door open, throwing him inside. He struggled to his feet as the buzzing in the room got louder and the noise did little for the pounding in his head. As he tried to get his bearings, the door on the opposite end of the cage suddenly burst open and a man was thrust inside. He looked worse for wear in his torn dress shirt and tie hanging loosely around his neck. Andy suspected the vampires probably grabbed the guy on his way home from some office job. His blood ran cold as the full gravity of the situation suddenly dawned on him.

_He's human. I'm about to Change, and they've thrown me in with a _human.

Andy had heard rumors of these sort of fights before, but he'd always chalked it up to prejudices between vampires and werewolves. He never believed the stories to be true. Now he cursed his own naiveté as he looked at the man the vampires believed they had sent to his death, and they may have been right. Andy may be able to Change at will, but during an actual full moon, maintaining control could be difficult. It is the only time during the month that the Change is forced on him. He can control it to a certain point, but if he is threatened, the Wolf's instincts kick in. He knew that if this human chose to attack him, there would be little he could do to contain the Wolf.

"Ladies and gentlemen," came the drawling voice over the amplifiers. "Welcome to the show! It is my pleasure to present to you our two contestants for this evening; a working class bloke fresh off the streets of Edinburgh against the lone wolf from Down Under!"

"Oh, for God's sake," Andy muttered under his breath.

"Only one will survive," the announcer continued, addressing the cheering crowd. "So, place your bets, ladies and gents! The show is about to begin!"

Suddenly Andy doubled over as a sharp pain shot through his body. _It's starting._ As he regained his breath, he turned and addressed the other man in the cage. "Hey, what's your name?"

"Trevor," he replied, eyeing him warily.

"Trevor, I need you to listen to me very carefully," Andy began, trying to hold back as long as he could. "I know you probably don't understand what's happening here, but whatever happens, you need to keep as much distance between yourself and the Wolf as you possibly can, do you understand? I can keep it contained as long as you don't present yourself as a threat. I'm sorry, but it's the best I can do."

The man stared at him incredulously. "You're mental. The lot of you!"

Andy groaned in frustration before he was suddenly overwhelmed by a new wave of intense pain. He dropped to the ground on his hands and knees, breathing hard. "Move to the other side," he ordered. "Just do it!"

The man finally obeyed, retreating to the opposite side of the cage as Andy finally lost control and the Change began in full.

Where Andy had been kneeling, a tawny colored werewolf rose in his place. The Wolf began to pace the cage, testing the metal enclosure with his claws. He ignored the man now cowering in the corner, instead trying to rip through the metal in order to reach the vampires on the outside.

The crowd was clearly displeased with this unexpected turn of events as the two occupants of the cage kept as much distance between them as possible.

"Let me out!" the man shouted through the bars at the two vampires deep in discussion on the other side. "You can't leave me in here!"

One of the vampires, the announcer, turned and sneered at the man. "The only way you're getting out of there is if the Wolf is dead." He pulled out a long hunting knife and kicked it under the enclosure where it skidded to a halt at the man's feet. "So get on with it!"

The man stared at the blade at his feet before looking back at the vampire and shaking his head. "He said he wouldn't harm me if I kept away."

"Well then," said the vampire, "there is always the alternative. You can leave the beast to us and we'll drain you dry." The vampire grinned, baring his fangs. "Your choice. It's you, or _him._"

The man recoiled from the wall of the cage and looked back at the knife on the ground. Reluctantly, he bent to retrieve it, turning his eyes to the Wolf on the opposite side of the cage. He gripped the handle of the blade and took a tentative step forward.

Sensing the threat, the Wolf turned to face him, baring his fangs in a warning. The man was struck by how _human_ the blue eyes look in the terrifying visage. "I'm sorry," he said, averting his gaze. The man lunged.

The Wolf dodged the blade easily, swiping at the man with his claws and missing him by inches. The man swung wildly with the blade, this time cutting across a clawed forearm, and the Wolf howled in pain. The Wolf swiped again and the man stumbled backward, blade still in hand.

As the Wolf prepared to lunge, he was distracted at the last moment as the crowd outside the cage suddenly descended into chaos.

A lone figure cut through the assembled vampires wielding a long silver object in his hand. Any who stood in his way were swiftly reduced to dust as he moved through the crowd. The rest simply fled in panic rather than face this new threat.

The moment's hesitation cost the werewolf as the man in the cage used the distraction to his advantage. He thrust upward with the knife in hand, jamming the blade between the Wolf's ribs.

The Wolf howled in pain and the man just barely managed to roll out of the way as he lunged for him. But that was all the energy he had to spend and the Wolf collapsed to the ground, his breathing ragged, as he tried feebly to remove the offending object from his torso.

Suddenly the door at the opposite end of the cage was wrenched open and the man scrambled toward the exit. He stopped as he took in the appearance of the tall man in the doorway with the silver stake in his hand.

"Go," the stranger said, stepping aside to let the man pass. "Get out of here while you still can."

The man didn't need to be told twice. He ran out of the cage and headed for the exit without looking back.

The Wolf lifted his head as the stranger moved into the cage and let out a low growl. He could smell a vampire a mile away in this state. The two locked eyes for a moment and the vampire retracted the weapon in his hand, depositing it in the inner pocket of his jacket. He took a step forward with his palms open in front of him, demonstrating that he wasn't a threat.

He approached slowly, maintaining eye contact with the Wolf.

"You can understand me, can't you?"

The Wolf grunted in response, eyeing him warily as he struggled to maintain consciousness.

The vampire moved closer, kneeling beside the Wolf where he laid. He broke eye contact just long enough to glance at the knife protruding from the Wolf's ribcage.

"I'm going to take this out," the vampire said, looking him in the eye. "Is that alright?"

The Wolf stared back, boring into him with his gaze. The vampire's eyes were kind, compassionate even… and old. _Very_ old. Unlike any he had encountered before.

The Wolf was in a great deal of pain and breathing was becoming more difficult. He stared into the eyes of the vampire for a moment longer and finally gave a small nod.

The vampire extended a hand and gripped the handle of the blade. Then, as carefully as he could, he pulled it free.

The Wolf grunted in pain as the blade was removed and his vision swam. As the bleeding worsened, his eyes began to close of their own accord and he was soon lost to the darkness.

* * *

When Andy opened his eyes, he was lying on the couch in an unfamiliar apartment with bright sunlight pouring in through the windows behind him. He glanced down to discover that there were bloodstained bandages wrapped around his ribs. He sat up slowly, his whole body aching, and started to unwrap the bandages. He was relieved to find no visible trace of the injury as he ran his fingers over the place where the knife had been. There were some perks to being a werewolf, after all. He was still a bit sore, but his injuries had healed.

Andy swung his legs over, planting his bare feet on the floor and glanced around the room, taking in his surroundings. The place was very neat and almost too clean. The furniture was a little sparse, but seemed comfortable enough. From what he could see, the room seemed to lack any personal touches and Andy got the impression that this wasn't a place that anyone spent a lot of time in.

He caught a familiar sight out of the corner of his eye and was relieved, albeit a little surprised, to find his rucksack on the floor beside the couch where he'd lain. He reached over, digging out a clean shirt from the inside, and pulled it over his head, glad to no longer feel so exposed in a strange place. He stood up from the couch, his muscles aching in protest, trying to decide what his next move should be.

"It's good to see you awake."

Andy started at the voice and spun around on the spot. He hadn't heard the other man approach.

"I'm sorry," said the man in the doorway. "I didn't mean to startle you."

Andy eyed him cautiously, recognition slowly coming back to him. "I remember you," he said. "From last night. You killed all those vampires."

The man inclined his head, leaning against the doorframe with his arms folded across his chest. "I did what needed to be done."

"But… _you're_ a vampire."

He offered Andy a weak smile. "We're not all monsters, you know. I'm sure you can relate to that."

Andy nodded, lowering his gaze. "I'm afraid I haven't had many positive experiences with vampires to this point," he answered.

"I understand."

"But then again, I've not exactly gotten on with too many werewolves either," he continued. "I sort of keep to myself."

Andy looked up at the vampire warily, unsure of what else to say. He didn't know why he was rambling on like this, but then again, he was a bit out of practice with people. Let alone someone from the supernatural world. Or maybe he was still suffering from that head injury he got last night.

As if sensing his discomfort, the vampire stepped further into the room and extended a hand. "My name is Lucian. Lucian Harcourt."

Andy offered a weak smile and gripped his hand in a firm handshake. "Andrew Monahan. But most people call me Andy. I suppose I should say 'thank you,' for last night. You probably saved my life."

Lucian shook his head. "I was only doing what's right."

"Well, most people wouldn't have," he replied flatly.

The older man studied him for a moment, his expression unreadable and something seemed to flash behind his eyes, but then he blinked and it was gone. "Well then, Andrew Monahan," he began, "the bathroom's down the hall if you feel like getting cleaned up, and then you should probably eat something. It's getting late."

Andy looked at him in bewilderment, "I wouldn't want to be any trouble."

Lucian waved him off. "Nonsense," he said. "It's the least I can do."

In the end, Andy relented. In all honesty, the only thing he had wanted right then was a shower, so he trudged off down the hall to do just that. He emerged a while later, feeling much more refreshed and comfortable in his favorite pair of jeans and a faded blue t-shirt. He could smell food cooking the moment he stepped into the hallway, and when he rounded the corner he found Lucian standing in the kitchen making breakfast. He hovered in the doorway for a moment, still feeling unsure about things, until Lucian turned around and motioned him inside.

"You must be hungry," he said. "Why don't you come and sit down?"

Andy obeyed, easing himself into a chair at the kitchen table. The hot shower had helped somewhat, but he was still pretty sore. As Lucian set a plate in front of him, he finally realized just how hungry he was, and the two ended up eating in silence as Andy was too focused on the food.

"So, where are you from?" Lucian asked once they were finished.

"Auckland, originally," he answered before adding, "New Zealand. I've moved around a lot."

Lucian nodded. "That's a long way from home."

Andy smiled weakly. "So I am continually reminded," he said, drinking his coffee.

"How did you end up in Scotland?"

"It's a long story," he replied, and his eyes were a little sad. "I don't usually stay in one place very long."

"I see," said Lucian, studying him curiously.

"So, 'Harcourt,' that's a very old name," Andy commented, looking to turn the conversation away from himself. "There were Harcourts among the Norman invaders of England as I recall."

Lucian looked impressed. "You know your history."

He shrugged. "I read. A lot."

Lucian nodded. "Well, your sources are correct. My father fought under William the Conqueror at the Battle of Hastings. He was then given land in Leicestershire. That's where I was born."

Andy stared at him in disbelief. "But that's- that would make you-"

"Nine hundred and forty," he said with a grin.

Andy's eyes widened in shock as he began to grasp the full weight of what Lucian was saying. "You're one of the Old Ones," he concluded.

Lucian's grin widened. "I am."

The blonde shook his head, hardly believing what he was hearing. "I thought that was just a myth. I mean, I know vampires are immortal, but I didn't think there were any that have been around for _that_ long."

"Well, truthfully, there aren't that many of us left," he admitted. "But there are others that are older than I am."

Andy studied him inquisitively across the table. "God, there must be so much history in your memories. The things you must have witnessed in your lifetime, I can't even imagine."

Lucian smiled in amusement. "You really do like history."

He shrugged. "I just like to learn I guess," he answered, suddenly feeling a little sheepish. "I've… been this way since I was sixteen, and that's when everything changed. I didn't really get to finish school, so I guess I've always just tried to make up for it on my own. I read about everything; history, fiction, culture, religion. It makes me feel like I'm still part of the world. Still human."

When Andy was finished speaking, he sat staring at his hands in his lap, having mixed emotions about having just shared so much of himself with a total stranger. Lucian watched him intently, feeling a pang of sympathy that someone so young should seem so _burdened_. Because that was what he saw when he looked into his eyes; a young man who seemed to be carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

"Well then," said Lucian, causing the blonde to look up as he spoke, "what would you like to know?"

* * *

When Andy was captured by a group of vampires on that fateful evening in Edinburgh, he didn't think he would survive, let alone walk away from it all with a friend. He stayed with Lucian for as long as the vampire remained in Scotland. It seemed they had both been a little in need of company after traveling so long on their own and they got along well.

The two would often talk for long hours about history and the different places they had been. Andy had a keen interest in hearing Lucian's perspective on various events compared to what he knew. _History is only ever written by the victor_, he would say.

On the nights Lucian would hunt on his quest to rid the world of rogue vampires, Andy would often accompany him. The pair made a pretty good team, though it also helped that Andy had complete mastery over the ability to Change at will.

Even after they parted ways, the two still kept in touch from time to time. Andy found it difficult to settle in one place for too long as nothing ever really felt like home and Lucian always had other business to attend to. But any time they found themselves in the same city, they would often seek each other's company. In fact, there were a few times they ran into each other quite by accident. Andy had taken to hunting rogues on his own throughout his travels and oftentimes he would cross paths with Lucian as a result of that common endeavor. It had been an unlikely friendship to begin with, but fate tends to work in strange ways.

* * *

_Present day_

Andy is sprawled on the bed in a cheap hotel just outside of Inverness with a copy of _The Silmarillion _spread across his lap. As he turns the last page on _Akallabêth_, he is startled back to reality by the shrill ringing of the telephone on the nightstand. He lets it ring a couple of times, wondering who on earth could be calling, before finally reaching over to pick up the receiver.

"Hello?"

_"Hello, Andrew."_

Andy grins. "You know, it's a little creepy when you do that."

_He laughs._

"How are you, Lucian?"

_"Well," he sighs, "that's sort of what I wanted to talk to you about. I need your help."_

Andy sits up on the bed, setting the book aside. "Another rogue clan?"

_"Not exactly," he answers. "It's actually more of a werewolf problem."_

"Well, you know I'm the expert there," he says with a grin.

_"Of course. How would you feel about coming to England? Bristol, to be more specific."_

"Well, you know me," says Andy. "I never stay in one place for long. What did you have in mind?"

* * *

**_And so we begin again! This chapter has been the bane of my existence for the past two months, so I can't tell you how happy I am to finally have it completed. Beginnings and endings are the hardest to write, I swear. So thank you all for being so patient with me, I'm sorry I made you wait so long. Now that I've got past this one, I know it'll be a lot easier for me to keep the flow going!_**

**_I hope you enjoyed this introduction to my Kiwi werewolf. I've really fallen in love with him, and I hope you will too. The song I chose at the beginning is pretty much his theme song, so that may give you a bit of insight into Andy's character. I absolutely love Mumford and Sons and this song was a major inspiration for me._**

**_So, strap in my friends, because this baby is finally taking off! The next chapter will actually be a bit more Mitchell-centric. He's sort of dealing with a lot right now… *evil grin*_**

**_Thanks for reading! Please share your thoughts! :)_**


	2. Burn

**_Greeting readers! Sorry this took longer than I intended…again. Thanks to those of you who reviewed the last chapter. I'm glad you like Andy so far!_**

**_By the way, I did go back and edit the first chapter because HOLY TYPOS AND TENSE CONFUSION BATMAN. I am never posting at 5AM on no sleep again. So go take a look at it first if you like. ;)_**

**_I actually finished reading The Silmarillion recently, so his reading of it was a little inspired. I also found out that the second of September, just before I posted that chapter, was the 40th anniversary of Tolkien's death. So I guess all the way around, that little nod was appropriate._**

**_AN IMPORTANT NOTE ABOUT THIS CHAPTER: So, I'll TRY to keep this rant to a minimum, but I need to explain something of my vampire canon that is relevant to a scene in this chapter. As you all are probably aware, in the series Mitchell had no reflection and his image could not be captured on film and they made kind of a big deal about it, especially later in the series. I AM HERE TO SAY I AM CHUCKING THAT CANON OUT THE WINDOW. I have ALWAYS hated that version of vampire lore because, to me, it makes absolutely no sense and it's completely impractical. ALSO on the show, Mitchell did in fact wear an ID badge when he worked at the hospital AND IT HAD A PICTURE ON IT. Point being, they couldn't even pull it off on the show, so I'm not even going there! If you care to hear my full rant on the subject, let me know, and I'll be happy to oblige. ;)_**

**_But, for now, long AN is long, so on to the story!_**

* * *

**Chapter 2: Burn**

**_So let me know just how to take this_****_  
'Cause you're way too cold  
Now show me how before it breaks me  
Did you come here to watch me, watch me burn?_**

**_I'll let it show that I'm not always hiding_****_  
Come all the way down  
And watch me burn  
I won't let it show that I'm not always flying  
So on the way down  
I'll watch you burn_**

**_- Burn by Three Days Grace_**

* * *

Mitchell stalks down the quiet empty street, brown eyes piercing the darkness. The night is more brisk than usual as summer begins to fade into autumn and a light drizzle of rain has begun to fall. He turns up the collar of his jacket against the damp and the chill wind and shoves his hands deeper into his pockets as he rounds the corner towards his destination.

He shifts his gaze upward, taking in the image of the old warehouse looming up ahead. Mitchell can't help it as his thoughts wander to another night little more than a month ago that found his feet treading this same path. Tonight he can feel some of the same sense of descending into the unknown and he forces down his feelings of apprehension, focusing instead on the task at hand.

The past few weeks have been filled with tension. Much of the clan was scattered after Herrick's demise, and Mitchell has spent much of that time just doing damage control. He has tried to root out as many of Herrick's remaining supporters as he could, but the random killings continued.

He knows that if he doesn't take control soon, the whole city could well descend into chaos. Tonight will be the first time the whole clan has been together in one room since the incident and he has no idea what to expect.

As he approaches the door, Mitchell can hear voices on the other side rising to a din as he draws closer. It seems the meeting has started without him. He pauses just outside and takes a steadying breath to regain his focus. There is too much riding on this. Squaring his shoulders, he turns the door handle and steps inside.

A hush falls over the crowd as he enters the room as whatever conversations they had been having abruptly cease. He can feel all of their eyes on him and he holds his head up, staring right back into their eyes as he makes his way through the crowd. The whispering begins as he passes, hushed voices building in volume as he moves toward the front of the room. When he reaches it he stops, turning to address the gathered vampires.

"Alright, listen up," he begins as the buzzing through the crowd threatens to build to the point of drowning out his words. "Listen to me!"

His voice echoes loudly over the space and the murmurings finally cease. The vampires turn their attention to the speaker, some eyeing him curiously, others coldly. He continues.

"The killings have to stop. That was never our way to begin with and the laws haven't changed. There's a reason for this. We have _never_ needed to kill humans to survive and we sure as hell aren't going to do it for sport. Taking human lives risks the exposure of us all. You may have gotten away with it before now, but those days are done. There is no one left to cover it up, do you understand?"

"And we've got you to thank for that, haven't we?"

Mitchell recognizes the voice before he even turns his head, jaw clenched in agitation. It's hard to believe Cara used to serve coffee and hot chocolate to overnight staff and the families of patients at the hospital, yet here she was. He had noticed her absence little more than a week before his initial run in with Herrick, but he hadn't found out she had been Turned until after his death. She has been a thorn in his side ever since. Just one more of Herrick's messes for him to clean up.

"Since you killed our brave captain," she continues, "undoing all of his hard work."

Before Mitchell has a chance to respond, they are interrupted by the lilting voice of another figure approaching from the back. "Oh, I don't think we should give him that much credit," she says.

He narrows his eyes as he recognizes the newcomer.

"What proof do we have that _he_ killed Herrick? Seeing as the only other witness to his death is nowhere to be found at the moment." She addresses Mitchell directly, standing close to him now. "No, I'd be willing to bet you let Lucian Harcourt kill him for you. You'd never have had the balls to kill your own Sire."

Mitchell glares down at her, clenching his jaw. "What are you doing here, Daisy?"

"Oh, I couldn't resist this." She flashes a predatory grin. "John Mitchell attempting to take control of William Herrick's clan. Should be quite a show." She backs away from him and goes to lean against a nearby pillar, her eyes catlike as she regards him from her new perch.

"The old regime is dead," Mitchell booms, addressing the crowd once more. "Believe whatever you like, but I will not stand for the behavior that has been exhibited by this clan for the past few months. There will be no uprising, no _revolution_. We go back to the way things were." He paces the room like a prowling panther, challenging each of them with his gaze. "We have sufficient supply of blood for our current numbers, and if that fails, we hunt as the Old Ones once did."

This earns a few groans from the group. "What, you mean in the woods? Like, deer and shit?" Interjects one who has the appearance of a young man in his early twenties at most.

Mitchell rounds on the speaker, though he speaks for all to hear. "We will do what needs to be done. The only reason we have survived this long is by keeping our existence a secret. The recent killings have risked our exposure enough as it is. We need to be especially careful now."

He turns back, studying the faces before him and his voice softens slightly. "Look, I know some of you are still new to all this, and I understand from experience what it's like to have nothing but Herrick's word to go by, but that excuse runs out _now_. This is the way it has always been. _You will not kill humans_." The command is final, his voice echoing over the open space. "This is the last warning I will give you. If anybody steps out of line, I'll kill you myself."

* * *

Mitchell makes his way down the street, grateful that the rain has let up, but eager to get home out of the chill it left behind. He isn't happy about the way the meeting went. Already he has come up with about a dozen things he feels he should have said and done differently, but it's no use now. He's just hoping that the point was made and he can stop tensing up every time they bring a body into the hospital. Something tells him he's not going to get that luxury any time soon.

Mitchell is entirely absorbed in his thoughts, trusting his feet to carry him to his destination without any conscious effort. As he reaches the corner where he will make the last turn onto his street, he realizes his mistake too late. He's been followed.

He turns around as the tall, lean figure approaches him lazily, hands in his pockets. Before Mitchell can react, the man strikes out at him, hitting him hard across the face. The blow leaves him reeling and he tastes blood in his mouth. He swings back, but the man gets him in a choke hold, pulling him back into a side alley.

Mitchell claws at the arm crushing his windpipe as the edges of his vision begin to darken. Just as he feels he is about to lose himself to the blackness, the man releases him abruptly, sending him to the ground. Mitchell scrambles to sit up, pressing his back against the wall as he catches his breath. He spits blood on the pavement, dragging the back of his hand across his mouth as he stares up at the man coldly.

"I should have known it was you," he says. "With Daisy around, I should've known you wouldn't be far behind."

The man straightens his suit jacket, regarding him with mild interest. "You look like shit, Mitchell."

"You just smacked me in the face!"

The man shrugs. "I was just proving a point."

Mitchell glares as he gets to his feet. "What do you want, Ivan?"

He grins. "I wanted to see how Lucian's protégé was handling this little situation. I must confess, I find myself rather disappointed."

Something flashes behind Mitchell's eyes and he glances away, clenching his jaw.

Ivan takes no notice as he continues. "That was some big talk back there. Though, I doubt very many of them took your threat seriously."

Mitchell's head snaps up and he bores into the older man with his gaze. "Well, I meant it. I won't stand for any more killings. Enough damage has already been done."

Ivan narrows his eyes, giving him a hard look. "And you could really go through with that, executing your own clan members?"

He matches his stare. "It's not like I haven't killed other vampires before."

"What, hunting rogues with Lucian?" Ivan shakes his head. "That is the problem with you, Mitchell. You have accomplished so little on your own."

He folds his hands behind his back, pacing the alley as he continues. "People respect Lucian, they _fear_ him, as they should and not just because he's one of the Old Ones. It's more than that; he is a man of action who has proven that he will stand by his word. But you," he steps forward, standing close to him now. "They're not sure what to make of you. The ones who would be swayed to your cause have not seen you exercise enough control to follow you just yet. Then there are the others; Herrick's supporters, and believe me there are still plenty of them out there. They do not want to see you take control of the clan, but they won't strike out at you, not yet, because they are afraid. They fear to go after the one who is so loved by Lucian Harcourt at the risk of invoking his wrath. But that won't last forever. That threat will pass from their minds the longer he stays away, and they _will_ come after you."

"So, what's your point, Ivan," Mitchell says angrily. "Why are you telling me all this?"

"I'm _warning_ you, Mitchell," he answers earnestly. "They are all going to test you and you had best be able to stand up to it. You removed a powerful leader from the head of this clan, the transition is not going to be clean."

"You didn't even like Herrick."

Ivan shakes his head. "You're missing the point. Whatever either of us may have felt, Herrick was a solid figure head. You have created a power vacuum, and you had better be able to rectify it. There are plenty of people waiting to watch you fail."

"Yeah, well, thanks for that," Mitchell responds bitterly. He has had enough. He moves to walk past the taller man and out of the alley, but Ivan catches his arm.

"Mitchell," he begins, "believe it or not, I am trying to help you. You're right, I hated Herrick and I'm glad that he's gone. Now, you have been handed an opportunity here. Don't screw it up."

Mitchell narrows his eyes at him. "Well, I appreciate your support," he answers, voice dripping with sarcasm. He wrenches his arm out of Ivan's grasp, stepping back out onto the street.

"Is it true that _you_ killed Herrick?"

Mitchell stops, taking a steadying breath before turning to face him once more. "Yes," he says, boring into the older man with his gaze. "I did."

Ivan studies him for a moment before giving a nod that seems to suggest he knows more than he's letting on. "Try and get some sleep, Mitchell," is all he says. "You look like shit."

* * *

George sits across from Nina at the kitchen table, stirring his tea absently as she prattles on. The next full moon is weeks away, yet it is still at the forefront of his mind. This last one passed without incident; especially compared to the time before that. Still, ever since that night in the warehouse it seems like a constant threat; the Wolf prowling in his mind. He knows it's completely ridiculous, but he has almost begun to fear that he could Change at any moment. Like all semblance of control he thought he possessed has been taken from him. The thought plagues him constantly.

He emerges from his thoughts to find Nina staring at him, looking fairly agitated. He wonders how long ago she stopped speaking.

"You haven't been listening to a word I've said, have you?" She accuses.

"Sorry," George answers sheepishly. "I've been feeling a bit… distracted."

"'Distracted?'" Nina looks exasperated. "George, look. I don't know what has been going on with you over these past few weeks, but you are 'distracted' every time I talk to you anymore. You act like you don't even want to _see me_, let alone spend time with me. You never invite me over-"

"What do you call _this_?" He gestures around the kitchen, looking affronted.

"As I recall, _I_ asked _you_ if you wanted to get take away and I suggested your place since you never seem to want to venture out anymore. Then you only said 'yes' because _Mitchell_ had something to do tonight."

"Well," George defends, "I didn't think you'd want to come over with my flat mate at the house."

"What about the time you didn't want to go to the cinema because Mitchell's aunt was ill?"

"She was _very_ ill, I couldn't expect him to manage on his own."

"Or the time you cancelled our dinner plans because you and Mitchell were going tobogganing in Liverpool?"

"Yeah, I had gotten the dates switched round. He'd been planning it for ages."

Nina narrows her eyes at him. "Right. Listen, George," she says, rising from her seat. "Let me be frank. You would rather spend an evening with your flat mate than you would with me. Now, if I didn't know any better, I'd say that you and Mitchell were a little more than just _flat mates_."

George opens and closes his mouth, doing a rather comical impression of a fish. "I- that's- you're not suggesting-"

She throws up her hands in a placating gesture just as they hear the tell-tale sound of a key turning in the lock. "Speak of the devil," says Nina as Mitchell steps in the front door.

He stops dead, glancing between the two of them in confusion. "Evening," he ventures. "I hope I'm not interrupting. I wasn't aware we had company." He gives George a pointed look.

"Oh, I was just leaving," Nina replies. She grabs her handbag and exits the kitchen, barely sparing Mitchell a glance as she moves past him toward the door. Before she turns the handle, she turns to face George once more. "If you get the urge to ditch your boyfriend," she says mockingly, "give me a call." And with that, she walks out, leaving the pair in stunned silence in her wake.

Mitchell stares at the closed door in confusion before rounding on George. "What the hell was that all about?"

"I thought you had that meeting tonight?"

"I did," Mitchell says irritably, shrugging off his jacket and hanging it by the door. "I wasn't aware you wanted me out of the house for the evening."

George sighs. "I just wanted to _have_ an evening. Now Nina thinks I'm ignoring her and that _you_ have something to do with it."

He shakes his head. "You've got to stop giving her lame excuses, George. And you especially need to stop involving _me_ in it. You need to _talk to her_."

"And tell her what?" George looks exasperated. "Tell her that I'm a werewolf? That's brilliant, Mitchell. While I'm at it, why don't I throw in that my best friend is also a vampire, and that we share our residence with a ghost? It's not like she'll think I've gone _completely mental!_"

"What do you want me to say?" Mitchell is rapidly losing his patience. "If you keep pushing her away there's gonna come a time when you push her too far, and she won't come back."

"Well, thanks for your support," George says sarcastically. "I really appreciate it."

Before Mitchell can give a response, the two are interrupted as Annie pops down from upstairs, standing between them.

"Did Nina leave already?" She looks at Mitchell and her curious expression changes to one of concern. "Are you alright, Mitchell? You look awful."

He glances from her to George who is studying him critically now, as though actually seeing him for the first time since he walked in the door. Mitchell is exasperated.

"_Why_ do people keep saying that?" He doesn't wait for a response. Without another word, Mitchell stalks off up the stairs, leaving a bewildered George and Annie in his wake.

* * *

Mitchell walks down a dark and empty corridor, his whole body tense. As he picks his way along, he feels almost as if he is descending deeper underground the farther he goes. He comes to a door at the end of the hall and he knows he has reached his destination. For a moment he stands still, focusing his senses, but he can detect no sign of movement on the other side. He reaches for the handle and, as quietly as he can, pulls the door open and slips inside.

He finds himself in a large open space lit only by a single bulb suspended from the ceiling in the center of the room. He pushes the door closed behind him and steps further in.

As his eyes adjust to the dim light, he spots a single hard-backed chair in the center of the room. His insides twist at the sight of the empty seat. Lucian should have been here, he was sure of it somehow. Shouldn't he?

A coldness seems to spread through his veins as he moves through the room. If he still had a pulse, it would be racing right now. His mind is screaming at him, _I've been here before_, but it's all wrong.

The sense of dread keeps building; threatening to suffocate him. Everything inside is telling him to run, to leave this place. He shouldn't be here. But he cannot obey the voice, he feels completely paralyzed.

This sense of fear reaches its peak as he suddenly feels a presence behind him. All of his senses are saying _don't turn around_, but he feels like he has lost all control of his movements. He turns around slowly.

Mitchell sucks in a breath as he takes in the hauntingly familiar sight before him. He tries to speak, but his vocal chords refuse to cooperate. _Herrick is dead_, his mind attempts to reason. _He's dead. He can't be here. I killed him in this room… didn't I?_

He takes a step backward as Herrick moves towards him, but he backs into the wall. There is nowhere for him to go.

Herrick grins toothily at him, his eyes gleaming as they catch the light. Then in one swift motion, he takes him by the throat.

Mitchell's vision begins to darken as he tries desperately to free himself from the iron grip crushing his windpipe, but it's no use. He feels as though his limbs have turned to lead.

"No one to bail you out this time," says Herrick. And with his free hand, he raises the stake.

* * *

Mitchell sits bolt upright in bed, breathing hard. His vampire eyes penetrate the darkness as he struggles to get his bearings. _My room_, he realizes, _I'm still in my room_. He reaches a hand up, rubbing at his throat absently. It had felt so real, he had almost expected to find bruises there. He releases a shaky breath, running both hands over his face tiredly. _This has got to stop._

Glancing sideways at the clock on the bedside table, he lets out an exasperated sigh at the little red numbers glaring at him through the darkness. It's just after 3:00AM.

This isn't the first time Mitchell has woken up in the middle of the night like this, and he's becoming accustomed to the fact that it likely won't be the last. The nightmares started nearly three weeks ago. He hadn't put too much thought into them at first, but lately they are becoming more frequent- and more violent.

So far he's managed to keep his nocturnal disturbances a secret. George and Annie have yet to notice any change in his sleeping habits and Lucian left for the Council before these occurrences began. It isn't something Mitchell is willing to confide to anyone at this point. No, now is not the time to let his guard down, there is too much at stake. He needs to deal with this on his own. Besides, the others have enough of their own issues to deal with right now.

Mitchell swings his legs over the side of the bed, dropping his bare feet on the floor. He rises slowly, stretching his neck out before padding out of the room and down the hall as quietly as he can.

At the end of the hall, he ducks into the bathroom, flicking on the light switch as he closes the door behind him. When he catches sight of himself in the mirror above the sink, he is taken aback by his own reflection. _Ivan and Annie were right_, he thinks miserably. _I do look like shit._

Mitchell's normally tan complexion is almost deathly pale. There are dark circles under his eyes as the constant lack of sleep seems to finally be catching up with him. He looks _older_, worn out, and there are lines beginning to appear around his eyes.

He turns the faucet on cold and leans over the sink, splashing water on his face. For a while he just stands there with his hands braced against the counter, the only sound his own breathing.

He feels that familiar pull at his veins telling him his body is going dry, and he tightens his grip on the counter as he starts to feel dizzy. He squeezes his eyes shut until the feeling passes, wincing when he feels a sharp pain in his lower lip as his fangs come out. He's gone too long.

Once he finally regains his composure, Mitchell walks unsteadily back to his room. He closes the door behind him as he enters and makes his way to the corner of the room where a mini-fridge sits on the floor against the wall. He kneels in front of it and pulls open the door, reaching in to remove one of the bags inside.

Ever since he moved in with George and consequentially Annie, Mitchell has always tried to keep his _feedings_ separate. It isn't exactly appealing, even to him in some ways. Besides, it is best not to store his blood supply in the kitchen if they ever have non-supernatural guests come over. They would be hard pressed to explain the bags of blood in their refrigerator.

Then there is the matter of making the blood more _appetizing_, because, even to a vampire, drinking the stuff straight out of the refrigerator is pretty disgusting. On more than one occasion, Annie had threatened Mitchell's well being if he ever decided to try heating the stuff in one of the saucepans as George often liked to joke about. Not that Mitchell has ever felt the inclination. The whole idea has always seemed a bit too vulgar somehow. Occasionally, he'll boil some water and then toss one of the bags in, letting it heat that way. But when he doesn't feel like fussing with it, like tonight for instance, he'll settle for the microwave. He keeps one on top of the fridge in his room for this exact purpose.

Mostly, Mitchell sees the feedings as sheer necessity. He doesn't enjoy it, nor does he really try to. Call it penance for past sins. He feels it's better this way.

Once he's finished the bag and taken care of any necessary clean up, Mitchell sits on the floor, leaning against the wall and staring out into the darkness of his bedroom. He can already feel his body responding. His muscles don't feel so stiff anymore and the cuts and bruises he acquired from his run in with Ivan earlier begin to heal properly. He closes his eyes with a sigh. He can't keep going this long between feedings.

Mitchell chalks it up to stress. Because that's what people do when they're stressed, isn't it? Skip meals, lose sleep. Except, when you're a vampire, _skipping meals_ can be a dangerous thing. Not only to others, but to yourself. Vampires don't produce their own blood anymore. It's the nature of basically being _the walking dead_. They need to replenish their blood supply by feeding. There's no way around it.

No, he scolds himself, he needs to be more careful. His dreams may keep him from sleeping, but he _is_ in control of _this_. He won't let it happen again.

Eventually, Mitchell drags himself off the floor and crawls back into bed. Maybe his dead Sire has had enough of haunting his dreams for one night.

* * *

Mitchell is awoken from a fitful sleep by the ringing of his cell phone on the bedside table. He reaches over groggily, attempting to put an end to the incessant noise as his sleepy brain tries to identify the sound. He finally gets a hold of it and regains consciousness enough to answer before it goes to voicemail.

"H'lo?"

_A deep voice chuckles on the other line. "Did I wake you?"_

The ghost of a smile graces his lips as Mitchell recognizes the voice. "S'okay."

_"Time zones, I'm all turned around. What time is it there?"_

He glances at the clock beside the bed and his grin widens. "It's after eleven," he admits a bit sheepishly.

_Lucian laughs. "So you were having a lie-in then."_

"I suppose," Mitchell answers, stifling a yawn as he sits up to stretch.

The truth is, he really didn't sleep much. After he went back to bed, he tossed and turned mostly. If he fell asleep, he was awake again within a couple of hours. But he's not about to tell Lucian that.

_"Well, listen," Lucian is saying. "I haven't got much time to talk right now, but I wanted to let you know I got in touch with my friend."_

Mitchell sits up a little straighter at the news. "You mean, your werewolf friend?"

_"Yes," he answers. "He's still in Scotland at the moment, but he should be there sometime during the week. Tell George and Annie, will you? I'm not sure exactly when you can expect him, so you guys will have to keep an eye out."_

"That's brilliant," Mitchell says with relief. "Best news I've had in weeks." He immediately regrets the last comment as it slips out, especially when Lucian pauses a bit longer than normal before he replies.

_"It will be good for George to have someone to relate to in all this. I think the two of them will get along just fine."_

"Glad to hear it."

_"So, how are things with you," comes the inevitable question. "Are you doing alright?"_

"Grand," is the simple response.

_There is a pause, and Mitchell catches an almost inaudible sigh. "Good," Lucian answers, though he doesn't sound convinced._

Now it's Mitchell's turn to sigh, though he tries not to let it be heard. "Look, don't worry about me, alright? I'm sure you've got enough on your plate as it is. I can manage things here."

_"It's my job, you know that," he answers lightly._

"I know."

_Another pause. "Listen, I have to go now, but you know where to find me. Don't hesitate to call. And let me know when Andrew gets there, I'm looking forward to hearing how things go."_

"I will."

_"Look after yourself. George and Annie too."_

Mitchell smiles. "You too."

* * *

**_So there you have it! I hope you enjoyed this latest._**

**_As some of you probably picked up on, there were quite a few canon references and borrowed lines from the show in this chapter. So, just in case there is any question, I am not affiliated with the BBC and I OWN NOTHING. ((Except Lucian and Andy. They are mine. *squishes*)) I try not to do that too much, but sometimes I feel it is an appropriate nod to the original canon and certain things can't be said better._**

**_As far as the whole bagged blood thing, admittedly I sort of skirted the issue in the last story and I felt that that wasn't gonna fly anymore. Most of the inspiration for what I ended up going with came from The Mortal Instruments verse. I also sort of bounced ideas off of my sister in that regard. (Nothing like the blood-drinking habits of domesticated vampires for a topic of family conversation. That was fun. ;P) It just made sense to me, so I hope that didn't come out weird._**

**_Just as a heads up, I will likely be updating this slightly less frequently than the last story. (I think I may have spoiled you guys a bit. :P) I'm going to try my best to not go more than a couple weeks between updates, but I am sort of trying to take my time on this one. Being the central story in the trilogy, there are a lot of details I have to work out in order for all of the pieces to fit together, so it's taking more time to work things out. Plus, I really feel like I'm getting to the point where I'm pleased with the writing itself and I'm working really hard to make sure this is as good as I can make it. So thanks for your patience with me! I'll try not to keep you guys waiting too long. ;)_**

**_As always, I love to hear from my readers, so please share your thoughts!_**


	3. Moving Forward

**_I've decided to stop fighting this system and fix the chapter numbers. Since I always start with a Prologue, it's getting confusing... So this makes chapter 3._**

**_Also, if anyone's interested in some mild spoilers, I have posted the completed chapter title/soundtrack list for this story on my blog: thedoctor-will-see-you-now dot tumblr dot com_**

**_Just look under the 'au tag' link on the sidebar. ;)_**

**_Enjoy!_**

* * *

**Chapter 3: Moving Forward**

_**I stand before a road that will lead  
Into the unknown, at least unknown to me.  
I want to go, but I'm paralyzed with fear.  
Fear of a choice where the outcome isn't clear.**_

_**No, but still I go.**_

_**And I take the first step of a million more.**_  
_**And I'll make mistakes I've never made before.**_  
_**But at least I'm moving forward, at least I'm moving forward.**_  
_**At least I'm moving forward...**_

_**I wonder if the journey will be**_  
_**Short as I hope, or much longer than it seems.**_  
_**But either way, I've made up my mind.**_  
_**I'm through feeling scared, I'm leaving that behind.**_

_**So, now it's time to go.**_

_**And I take the first step of a million more.**_  
_**And I'll make mistakes I've never made before.**_  
_**But at least I'm moving forward, at least I'm moving forward.**_  
_**At least I'm moving forward...**_

_**- Moving Forward by Hoobastank**_

* * *

It is late in the afternoon when Andy finds himself on the last leg of his journey to Bristol. He's been traveling for the better part of two days now; alternating between the bus system and his own two legs to make the trip from Inverness. He could have taken the bus the entire way, but he enjoys walking at times. Plus it gave him a chance to clear his head.

As he rounds the corner onto the final street that will lead him to his destination, he is suddenly struck by how nervous he is. Coming to a strange city on his own is something he has experienced a dozen times before, but this is something completely new.

He could scarcely believe it when Lucian told him of the vampire, ghost, and werewolf sharing a house in Totterdown. He hasn't really encountered many ghosts before, so he has no idea what to expect there. He's still wary of vampires, but if his time with Lucian taught him anything; it is that not all vampires are what he originally perceived. Besides, these are friends of Lucian's; there should be nothing for him to worry about. Right?

Andy glances down at the address scrawled on the slip of paper in his hand and looks up at the corner house in front of him. This is the place. He shifts his pack on his shoulder and, taking a deep breath, raises a hand and knocks on the door.

There is a rustling of curtains in the window beside the door and he catches sight of a brown and grey blur before the figure disappears from sight. He hears the lock turn and suddenly the door is wrenched open revealing a petite young woman beaming at him beneath an abundance of dark curls.

"Hi!" she greets, her brown eyes bright. "You must be Andrew."

Andy can't help but return her infectious smile. He can't recall the last time he was greeted with such enthusiasm. "Andy," he replies to the inquiry. "I think Lucian's a little attached to the formal; he's the only one who really uses my full name."

Annie's grin widens. "Somehow that does not surprise me. I'm Annie, by the way," she says, reaching out to shake his hand.

"It's nice to meet you, Annie."

"Well, come on in," she says, ushering him inside. "George isn't here right now, but he should be home soon. I think Mitchell is-"

Annie doesn't need to finish her sentence as she is interrupted by a voice calling down the stairs.

"Annie, was there someone at the door?"

A lanky figure pads barefoot down the stairs wearing tight fitting jeans and a bright red tank top, the fingerless gloves on his hands making an interesting contrast against his bare arms. He pauses at the bottom of the stairs with both hands on the railings as he catches sight of the pair standing in the entryway.

"Andy, this is Mitchell," Annie continues.

Mitchell breaks into a grin as the realization dawns and he takes a step forward. "Good to meet you," he says, taking his hand between both of his.

"Yeah, you too," Andy responds, returning his easy smile.

"I was about to tell him you'd be lurking somewhere," says Annie before turning back to Andy. "You'd think there were _two_ ghosts in this house the way this one's been lately," she teases.

"Yeah, well, I've been a bit busy lately," Mitchell responds dismissively. "Why don't you come sit down? I'm sure you've come a long way."

Annie leads Andy into the living room while Mitchell ducks into the kitchen. He grabs a couple of beers out of the fridge before following after them. He hands one to Andy and takes a seat.

"So, did you find the place okay?" Mitchell asks, taking a swig of his beer.

"I did," Andy answers. "Of course, from one wanderer to another, Lucian's directions were pretty clear."

Mitchell smiles a little at that. "That sounds like Lucian," he says, glancing down at the bottle as he rolls it between his hands.

Andy doesn't miss the sideways glance Annie spares her dark haired friend. He glances around the room for a brief moment before something on the floor to his left catches his eye. "Who's into Laurel and Hardy?" he asks with genuine interest.

"Guilty," Mitchell answers, raising the bottle in a sort of salute.

"You're kidding?" Andy grins. "I love Laurel and Hardy."

Mitchell brightens. "Really?"

"Yeah," the blonde answers. "I used to watch them all the time as a kid. My mum had quite the collection." He smiles fondly at the memory. "I hadn't thought of that in years."

"I've got a bunch on DVD in my room," Mitchell says. "We should definitely watch them sometime."

"That'd be great!"

"Oh, God," Annie interjects, half exasperated and half amused. "Now there's two of you! We're never going to see the end of it."

"Hey, just because _you_ have no taste," Mitchell shoots back teasingly.

"Says the man who's never seen Ace Ventura," she responds.

He rolls his eyes. "Like I said; no taste."

Andy can't help but laugh at their banter and for the first time in a while he feels himself really begin to let down. It's pretty early to tell anything for sure, but Andy has the feeling that he's going to like it here.

The three chat idly for a bit, and before long, Mitchell realizes that it's just about time for George to be coming home. They've known Andy was coming for a while, but knowing George, he thinks it may be best not to spring it on him the second he walks in the door. He should probably talk to him before making introductions. Part of him thinks George hasn't really come to the terms with the reality of this actually happening, and Mitchell explains as much to Andy.

Annie is standing by the door playing lookout when she suddenly starts frantically waving Mitchell over. Andy gives him an amused look as Mitchell rises from his seat to join her. A moment later, they hear the telltale sound of a key turning in the lock and George opens the door.

He steps inside, looking particularly exhausted after a long shift at the hospital. He catches sight of Mitchell and Annie standing near the entry way and gives them a suspicious look.

"Evening," he ventures, glancing from one to the other.

"George! Glad you're home," says Mitchell, clasping him on the shoulder. "Listen, there's something I need to talk to you about. Annie, why don't you-" he gives a meaningful nod toward the living room and Annie responds in kind before turning on her heel. Before George has a chance to protest, Mitchell takes him by the arm and all but drags him into the kitchen behind him.

"Mitchell, what the hell is going on?" George demands as the beads hanging in the doorway clack together behind him.

Mitchell makes a shushing motion with his hands. "Andy's here," he announces as though he can barely contain his excitement.

George looks puzzled. "Who?"

"Andrew," he urges, looking mildly exasperated. "Andrew Monahan. You know, the _werewolf_ Lucian told us about?"

George's eyes widen as the realization finally dawns on him. "He's _here_?"

"Yeah, he's in the living room with Annie." Mitchell studies his face, arms folded across his chest. "What's wrong? You look like I just told you you have cancer or something."

George sighs. "Sometimes I think that would be easier than dealing with all of this," he responds tiredly.

Mitchell looks taken aback. "George, we've been waiting for this for weeks. You knew he was coming, I thought you'd be happy. I thought you wanted to learn how to _control it_."

"I don't want to control it," he answers. "I want it to _go away_."

"You know that isn't possible, George," says Mitchell, not unkindly.

"I just want to have a normal life. I don't want this _thing_ to be a part of me."

"But don't you understand? This _is _your chance to have a normal life. Well, at least more normal than you have now. Look," Mitchell takes a step toward him, lowering his voice. "This _thing_ is a part of you whether you want it to be or not. Nothing can change that. But if you can learn to control it, it won't be controlling _you _anymore. You can live your life without the fear of what you are, and believe me, there is _nothing_ more liberating than that."

George lets out a defeated sigh, grey blue eyes connecting with brown. Of course, Mitchell is right. He of all people would understand what that's like. "Alright then," he concedes. "So, what's he like?"

Mitchell grins. "Come and see for yourself." He steps out through the bead curtain, holding it aside to let George follow after him.

As they cross to the living room, George can practically hear his heart pounding in his ears and he can't remember the last time he felt so nervous. After all, he has not encountered another werewolf since he was first attacked and he has no idea what to expect.

As Mitchell leads the way into the living room, he catches sight of a man seated beside Annie on the couch. He rises as they enter the room and George feels himself relax a little bit as he takes in the surprisingly non-threatening appearance of the man before him.

He is just about George's height and looks to be only a few years older than him. He has an average build, though something about the way he carries himself suggests he's pretty fit beneath the loose-fitting jeans and flannel shirt. He stands with his hands in his pockets looking slightly unsure of things himself, which puts George further at ease, and the bright blue eyes beneath the strawberry blonde hair are kind.

"George," Mitchell begins, "I'd like you to meet Andy. Andy, this is George."

Andy takes a tentative step forward and extends a hand which George accepts a bit shyly. "Nice to meet you, George," he says, offering a small smile, which George returns.

"You too."

The two stand awkwardly for a moment as neither is sure how to proceed until Mitchell catches on and rescues them from the silence.

"So," he says. "Who's hungry?"

* * *

They settle for ordering pizza, figuring it's the easiest thing, and the four chat amiably through dinner, though Annie finds herself drifting more to the outside of the conversation as the three discover more of their own shared interests.

It turns out George and Andy have a few things in common, minus the werewolf thing, of course.

Both of them like to read. They spend a fair amount of time discussing their varying literary interests; from Dickens' classics to Stephen King; from _The Great Gatsby_ to _The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy_. They find a lot of room for conversation. They both have a talent for languages as well, though Andy's knowledge stems more from his travels and the need to adapt to different cultures than from sheer intellectual interest. Their common fluent languages include French, German, and Spanish, though Andy can speak Swedish as well while George is fluent in Italian and can speak a bit of Croatian.

A love of old films seems to be a shared trait between George, Andy, _and_ Mitchell and Annie knows she must prepare herself for the coming marathons.

All in all it seems that everyone is going to get along just fine, however short or long Andy's stay turns out to be.

At some point Annie rises from her seat, her hand brushing Mitchell's shoulder as she passes out of the room. He glances up at her at the touch, but she doesn't notice. She is too absorbed in her thoughts.

Annie is glad to see Mitchell back among the living, so to speak. He has become more reclusive since Lucian left, and she knows he misses him. He never brings up his activities with the local clan and any direct questions on the subject are usually met with vague and dismissive responses. Annie doesn't really worry though. After all, with Herrick gone, how much do they really need to worry about the remains of the clan? No, whatever is left to deal with, she's sure Mitchell can handle it. It's George she's worried about.

Between his struggles with the whole werewolf thing and problems with Nina, he has been keeping to himself quite a bit lately. Normally Mitchell is the one to bring him out of those moods, but he has been too absent lately to be much help in that department.

So that just left Annie; ceaselessly drifting between the two of them, feeling more _ghostlike_ than ever. She has felt so _useless_ over these past few weeks; unable to help either of her friends. She hasn't known how. This is all still so foreign to her in a way; vampires and werewolves. The world is a much different place than it was before she died.

Annie has high hopes that having Andy here is going to do a lot for George. It will be good for him to have someone to relate to about his condition the way Mitchell has Lucian. Maybe it will be good for all of them. She just wishes that there was more that she could _do_.

Aren't George and Mitchell the reason she stayed? She remembers the night she got her door…

* * *

Annie relished the look of sheer terror on Owen's face as the weight of everything she told him settled in. George and Mitchell hadn't needed to say a word. Their presence alone was enough, and it gave her strength just knowing that they stood behind her in that pivotal moment.

As Owen fled the house, she felt a weight lift from her shoulders. She did it. It was all over. She could finally be at peace.

And then the door appeared.

For a moment, she stared at it thinking, _This is it. This is what I've been waiting for_. She turned to face George and Mitchell, "I should say goodbye now, then?"

George who stood closest to her, nodded, and she found herself a little surprised to find that there were tears in his eyes.

"You hated me," she said through a tearful laugh as she hugged him tight.

"No, I didn't!" He protested, tears falling in earnest.

"Oh, you did," she said as she pulled away.

He smiled a little, shrugging his shoulders. "A bit."

Annie turned from George and her eyes locked with Mitchell's. He stood ramrod straight near the front door, his arms at his sides. His jaw was clenched and there was a slight crease to his brow. Whatever he felt in this moment, he was trying very hard not to show it, but that's Mitchell for you.

Annie closed the distance between them, throwing her arms around him, and Mitchell responded in earnest, holding onto her as if she'd fade away if he let her go. He expelled a shaky breath, his fingers winding in her hair and Annie felt as if she was breaking.

"I think I'm going to miss you the most," she said softly into his ear.

She could feel him smiling against her hair. "I'll miss you too."

She pulled back a little and took his face in her hands, and for a moment they simply stood with their foreheads touching. Neither could think of a single word to say. Finally Annie let go and stepped back toward the door.

"You'll be alright?" she asked them both.

"I'll look after him," they said in unison before glancing at each other in surprise, and Annie almost laughed.

She turned back to face the door, the tips of her fingers brushing against the wood. As her hand drifted toward the handle, a flood of memories seemed to flash before her eyes like a film reel, but not of her life; these were images from the life _after_ her death.

_She saw a car pulling up outside her window; two young men unloading bags from the trunk and making their way inside._

_A flash, and there was George asleep on the couch; the mug of tea she had made for him half empty on the table. She drew a blanket up over his shoulders._

_Another flash, and she was sitting on the floor in the attic with Mitchell beside her. The brush of lips against lips, a gasp of surprise. Did she really feel that?_

_"Fair warning," she saw herself saying later, "if you go in for a hug, Mitchell will try to kiss you."_

_"I leave you two alone for five minutes," said George._

_"It's like being attacked by an ironing board," she teased._

_"Hey," said Mitchell, "if I had intended to kiss you, I would have put chap stick on first."_

Over and over the images flashed on different scenes; mugs of tea and coffee covering half the surfaces in the house, late nights piled on the couch watching "The Real Hustle," the day she found out Owen had killed her and Gilbert got his door…

Annie withdrew her hand from the door as if it had burned her. She reached up to touch her face and found tears staining her cheeks.

Whatever relief or absolution she had felt at coming to this moment quickly evaporated as she looked back at the last several months and she remembered how much she had _lived_ since her death. But something was still missing. There was still something she hadn't done.

She turned back to face her friends and the feeling intensified as she realized…

"I don't want to go," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

The two looked shocked.

"But, I thought this was what you wanted," said George, "to move on. All that stuff with Owen, isn't this what it was all for?"

"But it's my choice, isn't it?" Annie asked. "My death. Don't I get to decide when I'm ready to move on?"

Her gaze locked on to a pair of brown eyes, begging a silent question.

"I don't know if you'll get another chance, Annie," said Mitchell, though his voice seemed to lack any real conviction. "No one's ever turned down _death_ before."

"I just feel like there's more for me to do somehow," she answered. "Beating Owen was an end, but I just don't feel like it's _the_ end."

"You are the only person who can answer that," said Mitchell.

Annie looked back and forth between the two of them, studying their faces. "Do _you_ want me to stay?"

They exchanged a quick glance, surprised by the question, and George gave her a firm nod, unable to form words past the lump in his throat.

"Of course we do," Mitchell affirmed, "but this is about you, Annie. What do _you_ want?"

For a long moment she stood, the silence seeming to stretch on forever as she searched herself. The longer she thought, the more she began to realize that this house had become a home to her; more so with the arrival of George and Mitchell than it had _ever_ been with Owen. This was where she belonged.

"I want to stay," she said finally. "It just… doesn't feel right for me to go. Not yet."

Before anyone could respond, there was a flash of white light behind where Annie stood. As the light faded, Annie turned around…

And the door was gone.

"Well then," said Annie, "maybe that means I was right. When I'm ready, there'll be another door. But until then," she turned around, facing her friends with a grin. "I think I'll go and put the kettle on."

* * *

Annie stands at the front door, her hand unconsciously drifting to the handle as she thinks back on that night. No, the idea of leaving hadn't felt right. Sure, she had been afraid of what she would- or wouldn't- find on the other side, but it was so much more than that.

She isn't quite sure why, and she never mentioned it to George or Mitchell, but a part of her had felt like they still _needed_ her somehow. Sure, the boys can take care of themselves; they were just fine the whole year they lived together before coming to Bristol, after all. And yet, they _had_ needed her. That night in the warehouse she had played a pivotal part in getting them out of there alive. It had taken _all_ of them. But was that all she was for?

No, she can't think like that. After all, it's like Lucian said, _God knows it's up to you hold the house together_. There is still so much to work through and she will do whatever she can to help. In _any_ way she can.

If George is going to really start trying to control this thing, he's going to need his friends to support him; and that is exactly what she is going to do.

Annie is startled back to the present as a hand drops onto her shoulder. She looks up to see a pair of brown eyes looking at her with concern.

"Are you alright, Annie?" Mitchell asks. "You looked like you were a mile away."

She offers him a small smile. "Just lost in my thoughts, I suppose." She glances over his shoulder where Andy and George are still chatting in the living room. "He seems lovely," she says. "Do you think he'll be able to help George?"

Mitchell gives her a reassuring smile. "If he can do half the things Lucian said, I'd say there's a good chance of that," he answers. "We'll just have to wait and see. But I have high hopes."

Annie nods. "Me too."

She follows Mitchell back out into the living room and they take their seats once more. George looks over at Mitchell expectantly as he leans forward, resting his chin on his hands.

"So, Andy," he begins, turning serious, "how much did Lucian tell you before coming here?"

Andy nods, unsurprised by the question. "Mostly we spoke about George. Lucian told me he had met a werewolf who was still pretty new to the condition; who hadn't learned how to manage it, and he asked for my help. He mentioned that there was an incident, but he didn't really go into detail."

Mitchell gives a nod before prompting him further. "Did he tell you anything else?"

"He filled me in a little on the vampire situation. He said that the local clan had gone rogue, but that the leader was dead and the rest were being dealt with. He mentioned you filling that role," he finishes, indicating Mitchell.

"It's a work in progress," says Mitchell.

"So, is it true then?" George cuts in. "What Lucian said; you can control it?"

Andy leans forward in his chair, looking him straight in the eye. "I've been dealing with this for more than half my life. I know everything there is to know about this condition. I can control, I can will it, and I _can_ teach you."

George studies him carefully, taking in his words. "Can I see it?"

"George," Mitchell interjects, "I'm not sure that's-"

"I need to see it," he says, turning his attention back to Andy. "Can you show me?"

Andy holds out his hands in a placating gesture before rising from his seat. "Sure."

He moves to stand in the middle of the living room as the three housemates watch him intently. For a moment, nothing happens as he stands with his eyes closed, arms hanging loose at his sides.

Then it begins.

His breathing hitches and he opens his eyes. His hands begin to elongate, the tips of his fingers ending in wicked claws, and his canines extend. His entire body begins to shift and change, but throughout the transformation he never makes a sound. Soon where Andy had been, a fully transformed werewolf stands in his place. Yet out of this fearsome visage, a pair of familiar bright blue eyes scan over the three, their gaze resting on George who stares back transfixed.

The Wolf crouches down and a clawed hand extends, beckoning him closer. George rises slowly from his seat.

"George-" Mitchell says in warning, but his friend cuts him off with a wave of his hand.

He moves closer, crouching in front of the Wolf so that the two are eye to eye, barely two feet apart.

Annie scoots closer to Mitchell on the couch, one hand gripping his arm and the other raised to her mouth as she looks on the scene in shock, and she can feel the tension radiating from him as well.

"Are you still in there?" George asks, looking into the Wolf's eyes. "Can you understand me?"

The Wolf dips his head in a nod.

For a moment, they sit in silence, George hardly believing is eyes. Then the Wolf sits back, and his body begins to change again. After a moment, Andy is kneeling on the floor, and he looks up at George with a grin. The latter extends a hand and pulls him to his feet.

"Clothes and all," says Mitchell. "That's impressive."

"Yeah, how did you do that?" asks Annie.

"I've got a few tricks," Andy responds with a sly grin. "So, what do you think, George? Are you convinced?"

George looks from Andy to Mitchell and Annie and back again, a smile growing on his face. "Yes," he answers finally. "Definitely convinced."

* * *

**_Thus concludes what proved a particularly difficult chapter for me to write! What is it about introductions that I always get hung up on? Oh well._**

**_I hope this chapter wasn't too boring. I know it wasn't particularly eventful. Hopefully it gives a little more insight into the characters though, and hey, I had to start them somewhere._**

**_This one turned out to be much more Annie centric than I had originally intended, but it's a change I'm pleased with. As much as I adore Annie, I feel like I've been neglecting her. Also, I felt it was about time I addressed my canon for her in this universe a little more._**

**_The Laurel and Hardy bit was a little inspired. Mitchell's interest in the comic duo is mentioned early on in the show, and Andy's reaction is reflective of my own when I first learned about it. _****My****_ mother collects Laurel and Hardy memorabilia and I grew up watching the old films. Plus I wanted something specific for them to share as an interest. ;)_**

**_I take no credit for George's affinity for languages. Everything I mentioned for him I got off the wiki page (because I couldn't remember all the ones that were mentioned the one time he brought it up on the show.) Again, as far as Andy, this gave me something for the two of them alone to share. Andy is a pretty bright guy, as is George._**

**_So, there you have it! Things are going to start picking up in the next chapter, I promise. So thanks for bearing with me! I have the rest of the story REALLY WELL outlined (which is why this one took so long) and it's going to go pretty fast. So expect more frequent updates!_**

**_Thanks again for reading! And as always, I thrive on your feedback. ;) _**


	4. Crawling In The Dark

**Chapter 4: Crawling In The Dark**

**_Help me carry on  
Assure me it's ok to use my heart and not my eyes  
To navigate the darkness  
Will the ending be ever coming suddenly?  
Will I ever get to see the ending to my story?_**

**_Show me what it's for  
Make me understand it  
I've been crawling in the dark looking for the answer  
Is there something more than what I've been handed?  
I've been crawling in the dark looking for the answer_**

**_- Crawling In The Dark by Hoobastank_**

* * *

George sits cross-legged on the cold ground, staring at the back of his hand. The longer he stares, the more frustrated he becomes as it stubbornly refuses to look like anything but a normal human hand; no claws, no fur, just his own normal, pale complexion. He drops his hand with a sigh and fixes his gaze on the man sitting across from him.

"You make it look so _easy_."

Andy laughs a little at that, his blue eyes bright. "I've also had about fifteen years more than you to learn how to manage it," he says. "It's gonna take time, but you'll get there."

They've been coming to this place in the woods for about a week now off and on. It is far enough out of town that they are not likely to be disturbed, but easy enough for them to get to frequently by car.

Andy is starting him slow. Mostly he's been working with him on some meditation techniques in an effort to get George to connect with that part of his mind that the Wolf inhabits. This initially earned him a fair amount of eye-rolling, but the battle, Andy explained, is entirely mental.

Technically it is easier to try and force a full Change than to focus on a single part of the body, but this is incredibly dangerous, especially for one as inexperienced as George. Consequently, Andy's method of teaching has made the process slower, causing George some frustration at the lack of immediate results, but it is much safer.

"There's no rush, George," Andy assures him once again. "There's still plenty of time before the next full moon. In the meantime, I've got a few tricks to make those Changes easier, so we'll work on that next. But for now," he gets to his feet, offering George a hand to help him up, "I say we head home. It's getting cold out here."

The two arrive back at the house close to sunset. As they walk in the door, Annie meets them in the entryway. She presses a finger to her lips, breaking into grin as she nods toward the living room.

Mitchell is sprawled out on the couch, lying on his stomach with one arm dangling to the floor, mouth open slightly in sleep.

"How long has he been like that?" asks George, clearly amused by the sight.

"Since he got home from work," Annie replies. "Probably about an hour or so."

"Well, he has been stuck on day shift lately," George comments. "He probably hasn't gotten used to it yet. Still," he starts to make his way across the room, "we shouldn't let him sleep all day."

Andy chuckles. "Is it really safe to wake a sleeping vampire?" he asks, half joking.

"Mitchell is a house cat. I'm not too worried about it."

"Cats have claws," he comments with a shrug.

"Valid point," says Annie.

George just waves them off, sneaking closer to the sleeping figure. He regards him for a moment before deciding on his plan of attack. Then he simply plops down on top of him and Mitchell awakens with a grunt at the sudden weight on his back.

"George, get off," he grumbles without even opening his eyes.

George glances down at him from his perch, arms folded across his chest. "How did you know it was me?"

"Because Annie doesn't technically weigh anything and Andy doesn't seem the sort to be so rude as to disturb a person when they're sleeping."

"Maybe I just didn't see you. You have sort of melded with the couch," George answers with a grin. "Besides, are you really going to sleep at seven o'clock in the evening?"

Mitchell mumbles something unintelligible into the couch cushions, though George suspects from the tone that there were a couple of swear words in there.

"Come again?" He teases.

"George, if you don't get off me I _will_ hurt you," is the response, though the threat lacks any real bite.

"Not from that position you won't," answers George. And to prove his point, he adjusts his position and reaches down, digging his fingers into his sides.

Mitchell lets out a yelp and reaches back in an effort to pry his hands away. "Get off!" He gets out in a fit of giggles as George only digs his fingers in harder.

"See? I told you," says George to Andy's previous remark. "The trick is knowing your advantages."

This last comment gives Mitchell a spark of inspiration. He stops trying to pry George's hands away, as this has proven difficult from his current angle, and pulls his arms in under his chest, bracing against the couch. Then with all his strength he pushes himself up, practically throwing George off of him, and it's only his vampire reflexes that keep him from landing without injury. This all happens so fast that George simple lays on the floor for a moment, blinking up at him while he tries to figure out how they've managed to switch positions.

"And _you_ should remember how much of an advantage _I_ have after the sun's gone down." Mitchell says triumphantly.

When it looks as though the two are about to start a full blown wrestling match in the middle of the living room, Annie decides that someone needs to intervene. "Okay guys, that's enough," she scolds. "Come on, you're going to break something!"

After a little more coaxing and a few threats on their lives, she finally manages to break them up and the two pick themselves up off the floor with a "yes, mum," and a "so bossy." All the while Andy is practically doubled over, leaning against the door frame, and he can't remember the last time he laughed so hard.

* * *

After dinner, Mitchell and Andy are seated in the living room while George helps Annie clean up in the kitchen in an attempt to get back in her good graces. Mitchell decides to take advantage of the time to catch up on things with Andy.

"So, how's the training thing going?" He asks.

"Not too bad," Andy replies. "It's a work in progress."

"He still not doing so well with the whole 'embrace the inner Wolf' thing?"

The blonde shakes his head. "I've tried to explain it to him," he says. "If he won't even accept that it's a part of him, he'll never be able to control it. It'll just make things worse."

Mitchell nods, chewing on his nails absently. "I was afraid that was going to be an issue. I just don't know what else we can do to convince him, you know?"

"I'm still working on it," he answers.

Before any more can be said on the subject, George emerges from the kitchen looking exasperated, albeit rather amused. "Annie's kicked me out," he explains. "She says I'm just _getting in the way_."

"Just leave her be for now," Mitchell says with a knowing grin. "She never stays mad at you for long."

George shrugs and takes a seat. "Hey, have you heard from Lucian lately?" He inquires.

Mitchell shakes his head. "Not since Andy first got here; he's been pretty busy. He never really has time to talk much."

"But that's good, isn't it?" George asks. "I mean, if he's being kept away so much, and for so long, the Council must be doing _something_."

He sighs. "Honestly? It could mean anything. The Council consists of the oldest vampires in the world. They have a tendency to show a bit of disregard for time. It takes a lot to instill any real sense of urgency in them."

"But Lucian's one of the Old Ones," says George. "He doesn't strike me as the type to waste much time in getting a job done."

Mitchell grins a little at that. "Lucian's different."

"This is true," Andy comments. "But I'd say you're pretty _different_ too, Mitchell. Most of the vampires I've met were-"

"Arseholes?" he finishes for him.

Andy laughs. "I was going to say something a little less... blunt."

He shrugs. "No point denying the truth. God knows I was."

Andy looks at him curiously. "How do you mean?"

He sighs. "Let's just say I wasn't the nicest person before Lucian came along."

"You mean Lucian isn't the one who-?" Andy trails off, catching the sideways glance George spares him, and he suspects he's treading on a sore subject.

"That made me a vampire?" Mitchell asks, looking a little taken aback.

Knowing there isn't really any way to go back on it now, Andy simply nods.

"No," he answers. "That happened a long time before I met Lucian." He smiles a little, though it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "If I had met him first, things would've been a lot different."

The sound of glass breaking puts a sudden end to the discussion as they all look towards the kitchen with a start. Annie is crouching on the floor, looking a little embarrassed as she tries to pick up the pieces of a mug that shattered on the floor. Without another word, Mitchell gets up to help her clean up the shards.

"You've hunted rogues with Lucian before, haven't you?" George asks Andy once he's out of ear shot.

He nods.

"Well, back in '69, he was hunting a pair in London. He tracked them to this multi-level in the suburbs, but the older of the two had got wind of his coming. He left the other behind without so much as a word of warning before Lucian arrived. Basically left him for dead; just so he could save his own skin." George takes a breath. "_That_ was Mitchell's Sire; the one who Turned him. Herrick."

Andy sits in stunned silence for a moment as he takes in this new piece of information. Though he's pretty sure he knows the answer, he prompts him further. "And the one he left behind was-"

"Mitchell," he confirms. "That's how he and Lucian met. To make a long story short; Lucian was sent to kill them both, but he decided to make a different call that day. Mitchell made some big changes in his life and Lucian's sort of looked after him ever since."

"So, where is Herrick now?" Andy asks.

George releases a sigh, sparing a quick glance toward the kitchen to assure himself that they won't be overheard. "Do you remember the rogue clan leader Lucian told you about before you came here?"

He nods slowly, beginning to see how it all fits together.

"Herrick," George confirms.

"And when Lucian told me he was dead…"

"Mitchell killed him," he says. "Lucian was there, but ultimately it was Mitchell who drove the stake through his heart."

Andy lets out a breath, taking it all in. He glances in the direction where Mitchell and Annie have disappeared into the kitchen as he tries to work through everything he's just been told. It seems things in this house are a bit more complicated than he originally thought.

* * *

Mitchell stands with mop in hand in the hospital corridor, letting his mind wander as he sets about his mundane task. He wishes George was around so he had someone to talk to instead of all the doctors and nurses brushing past him like he doesn't exist, but lately they've been landing on different shifts. It seems someone got it into the administrator's head that the two don't get enough work done when they're together, though he and George would certainly argue to the contrary. It was probably one of the nurses they had annoyed recently. Mitchell suspects Nina. So he is left to set about his tasks on his own today, feeling a little bit lonely but mostly bored. Not to mention the fact that he's completely exhausted.

He still isn't sleeping well at night and lately his nightmares have been getting worse. It's gotten to the point that he dreads closing his eyes at night for fear of what his dreams will bring. His only respite has been to snatch an hour of sleep here and there during daylight hours when he's too exhausted to really dream. But given the increase in day shifts he's been getting lately, even this has proven difficult.

"You missed a spot," comes a bored voice, startling him out of his reverie.

Mitchell pauses just long enough to identify the speaker before continuing with his task. "What are you doing here, Ivan?" He asks irritably.

"Oh, I was in the neighborhood," he answers. "I just thought I'd see what you were up to."

"Well, what does it look like?" Mitchell responds without sparing him a glance. He's honestly just hoping he'll go away.

"It looks like you're cleaning up other peoples' messes instead of tending to your own."

Mitchell straightens and turns to face him, tightening his grip on the mop handle in an effort to keep himself from wrapping his hands around Ivan's throat. "Either tell me what this is about, or get out of my sight," he says, fixing him with a cold stare. "I've had enough of your games."

Ivan narrows his eyes, studying him intently before seeming to come to some sort of decision. "The bodies of two teenage girls were brought in this morning," he begins. "The authorities suspect some sort of animal attack; both of them had their throats ripped out, but they're wrong." He pauses, giving Mitchell a hard look. "Tell me you knew about this."

Mitchell's stomach drops. This is the last piece of news he had hoped to hear; especially from _Ivan_.

The older man stares at him. "You didn't, did you? For God's sake, Mitchell, do you have _any_ control?"

"I'm doing the best I can-"

"Well, that is _not good enough_," Ivan cuts him off. "Now, I would have hoped that Lucian's decision to leave you in charge had meant that you were at least _somewhat_ capable of handling what that entails, but it seems I was mistaken. You don't know the first thing about leading this clan, do you?"

Mitchell stands with his jaw clenched, unable to look him in the eye. "I'll handle it," he says finally. And before Ivan can offer any further retort, he turns on his heel and heads off down the corridor.

* * *

Mitchell stands in the center of the old warehouse, studying the faces of the assembled vampires as he finishes delivering the news. He had gotten the word out the moment he left the hospital, demanding a meeting of the entire clan. He is not disappointed by the number present.

"So who was it?" Mitchell demands.

Dark eyes scan the crowd, studying the faces of the assembled vampires. "Which of you took it upon yourselves to put the entire clan at risk?"

His question is met with silence, his voice echoing off the walls of the old warehouse.

"Whoever did it is standing in this room. I could smell the blood the moment I walked in."

He prowls among them like a panther on the hunt, seeking the source, and several of the vampires shrink back at his approach.

"No one leaves until I get an answer. _Who did this_?"

"I did."

Mitchell turns at the voice, the whole room following the path of his gaze. _Cara_.

He stares her down. "They were _fifteen_."

"They were delicious," she answers, taking a bold step towards him. "So warm and fresh. And the _rush_; there's nothing else to compare to it. You should try it again, Mitchell. I'd forgotten what it was like."

"We had a _deal_." He steps forward and strikes her hard across the face, sending her to the ground with a cry. "_Anyone else?_" He demands as he turns back to face the crowd, challenging each of them with his gaze. No one makes a sound. "I didn't think so."

"So, let's see it then," comes a lilting voice, and Mitchell turns to regard Daisy coldly as she emerges from the crowd. "You made a pretty serious threat at the last meeting. We want to see if you'll actually carry it out."

Mitchell straightens, giving her a hard look. "I'm not turning this into your evening's entertainment."

"Justice has to be seen to be done, Mitchell," she answers. "Do it properly, and you'll never have to do it again."

He scans the faces in the crowd, all eyes looking back at him expectantly. _Is this really what they want?_

Mitchell considers his options and comes to a decision. He is not going to do this publicly, no matter what the others might think of him.

He turns back to Cara, "Get up," he says, taking her by the arm and pulling her off the ground. "You're coming with me."

And without another look back, he stalks out of the building with Cara in tow.

The sun has set by the time they reach the end of the street and all of Mitchell's senses are in overdrive. The sound of their footsteps against the pavement seems to echo through the empty street and he wishes it wasn't so _loud_.

Once he feels far enough from the accursed warehouse, he rounds a corner sharply, pulling Cara into a side alley. As soon as he releases her, she drops to her knees, looking up at him with wide eyes.

"You're not really going to kill me, are you?"

He reaches into an inside pocket, retrieving a long wooden stake. "I told you what would happen, I told everyone. You didn't listen. Now those two girls are _dead_ because of you. Did you _honestly_ expect to get away with it?"

"Please," she begs as the tears begin to fall, her hands grasping for the hem of his jacket. "I won't do it again. I promise I'll be good!"

Mitchell jerks away from her, standing with the stake in hand. _I have to do this,_ his mind reasons,_ or it will never stop_. He raises the stake, gazing down at the crumpled figure at his feet… but something stops him.

"We have the same Sire," says Cara, taking advantage of his hesitation. "We're practically brother and sister. _Please_, Mitchell."

He stands silent for a moment, studying her closely. As he takes in Cara's appearance; the glassy-eyed expression and the stench of blood radiating from her, it serves as a cruel reminder of a past he would rather forget, and it makes him realize something. How can he deny someone else what he was so graciously given? The only reason he's even standing here is because someone who had the power to end his life decided to give him a second chance.

Mitchell comes to a decision.

"Get up," he says, beckoning her with his free hand, the stake held loosely at his side.

Cara gets unsteadily to her feet, watching him warily.

"Give me your jacket."

She pauses a moment, looking at him curiously, but she obeys, shrugging off the red leather and handing it over mutely.

"This is what you're going to do," he begins. "You're going to walk, or get on a bus, or a train, I don't care; but you're going to leave the country. _Now_. Don't speak to anyone, just pack a bag and _go_. And if I ever see you again, I promise you, I _will _kill you. Is that understood?"

She nods furiously, wiping the tears from her eyes. "Thank you, Mitchell," she says, clutching his arm. "Thank you."

"Don't," he responds, pulling himself free of her grasp. "Just go."

She brushes past him, pulling her thin sweater tighter around her shoulders, and heads towards the mouth of the alley.

"And Cara," he calls before she rounds the corner, "don't make me regret this."

Cara stares at him for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then she gives him a final nod and steps out onto the pavement, disappearing into the night.

Once he's sure she has gone, Mitchell steps out of the alleyway and heads back towards the warehouse, rolling up the jacket under his arm and stuffing his hands in his pockets as he walks. He realizes now that he never would have been able to follow through with what he had been about to do. All the vampires he has ever killed before had been trying to kill _him_, not begging for their lives. It's a lot different killing someone in the midst of battle; he knows that all too well. Now that just leaves the problem of the clan, which he can only hope he is about to solve. He may not have been able to kill Cara, but he knows now that the only way he's finally going to take control of this clan is if they at least _think_ that he did.

As he pulls open the doors and steps inside, a hush falls over the assembled vampires as he makes his way through the crowd. When he reaches the front of the room, he turns to face them, holding the red jacket aloft.

"Cara has been executed," he announces to the crowd, casting the article to the ground at his feet.

For a moment that seems to last an eternity for Mitchell, there is only silence as those assembled take in the sight.

Then suddenly one of the older men calls out in a loud voice, "The king is dead. Long live the king!"

Mitchell looks up in surprise as the rest of the vampires take up the call. As a chant of _long live the king!_ reverberates off the walls of the old warehouse, he stands in stunned silence, hoping against hope that he has not just made a colossal mistake.

* * *

Cara sits on a bench at the bus station with her hood up, clutching a single suitcase close to her side. She is entirely absorbed in her own thoughts and doesn't notice the man in the suit as he takes a seat beside her.

"Going somewhere?"

She starts at the voice, turning to regard the stranger suspiciously. "That's _my _business then, isn't it?" Is the biting reply. She doesn't like anyone sneaking up on her.

"Oooh, you've got fire," the man grins. "I can see why he liked you."

Cara narrows her eyes at him. "What are you talking about? Who?"

"Herrick, of course," he answers.

She stares at him.

"I do apologize. I should have introduced myself." The man straightens his suit jacket as he turns to face her. "My name is Edgar Wyndam."

Cara's eyes widen. "_You're _Wyndam? You're the one Herrick was working for?"

"Clever girl," he answers with a grin. "But you see, with Herrick gone, I am in need of further assistance if I am to finish my work."

She creases her brow in confusion. "Why are you telling _me_ this?"

Wyndam's grin widens. "I have a proposition for you," he says. "How would you like to come and work for me now?"

She studies him for a moment as she lets the weight of his words wash over her. Then, slowly at first, Cara breaks into the first real smile she's worn in weeks.

* * *

**_The plot thickens! *cackles maniacally*_**

**_This one ended up needing a lot more fine-tuning than I've had to do in the past. Just when I thought I was done with it, I'd read over what I had and end up hating everything… So, I hope you guys like how it came out!_**

**_If anyone's interested in some mild spoilers, I have posted the completed chapter title/soundtrack list for this story on my blog; thedoctor-will-see-you-now dot tumblr dot com_**

**_Just click the 'au tag' link in the side bar and you'll find it a few posts down._**

**_Thanks for reading! And as always, I thrive on your feedback. :)_**


	5. Little Lion Man

**_I was going to do this all in one chapter, but it was getting REALLY LONG so I decided I needed to split these next events into two. So here's an update a few days early. :)_**

**_Enjoy!_**

* * *

**Chapter 5: Little Lion Man**

**_Weep for yourself, my man,  
You'll never be what is in your heart  
Weep, little lion man,  
You're not as brave as you were at the start  
Rate yourself and rake yourself  
Take all the courage you have left  
And waste it on fixing all the problems that you made in your own head_**

**_But it was not your fault but mine_**  
**_And it was your heart on the line_**  
**_I really fucked it up this time_**  
**_Didn't I, my dear?_**  
**_Didn't I, my..._**

**_Tremble for yourself, my man,_**  
**_You know that you have seen this all before_**  
**_Tremble, little lion man,_**  
**_You'll never settle any of your scores_**  
**_Your grace is wasted in your face,_**  
**_Your boldness stands alone among the wreck_**  
**_Now learn from your mother or else spend your days biting your own neck_**

**_But it was not your fault but mine_**  
**_And it was your heart on the line_**  
**_I really fucked it up this time_**  
**_Didn't I, my dear?_**

**_- Little Lion Man by Mumford and Sons_**

* * *

Annie sits across from Andy at the kitchen table, pouring over a worn out hardback he picked out for her on a recent trip to the library. She has developed a sudden interest in all things to do with werewolves and has been reading every bit of folklore she can get her hands on lately. She spends a lot of time discussing her findings with Andy while George and Mitchell are away at work and he helps her filter out the facts from the fiction.

Andy doesn't mind all the questions. In fact, he has done much to encourage her interests, including procuring most of her research materials. He can tell Annie is happy to have something to occupy her instead of just sitting around the house all the time, and he is happy to help.

"Oh, here's something interesting," says Annie, turning to a new page in her book. "'_The Irish werewolf is different from the Teutonic or European werewolf, as it is really not a "monster" at all. Unlike its continental cousins, this shape-shifter is the guardian and protector of children, wounded men and lost persons. According to some ancient sources, the Irish werewolves were even recruited by kings in time of war_.' Have you ever heard that before, Mitchell?"

"Can't say that I have," he responds distractedly as he stands at the sink, hurriedly finishing his coffee.

"Where are you off to?" George asks from his seat at the table. "You're not at work today."

"I've got some stuff I have to do," he answers dismissively, pulling on his jacket as he heads toward the door.

"Well, pick up a few things while you're out," Annie puts in. "We're out of milk."

"Uh-huh."

"And _tea_!" she adds, but Mitchell doesn't really seem to be paying attention.

"I don't know if I'll be back before you leave, so good luck tonight, ok?" he calls to George and Andy over his shoulder. "You two look after each other."

"Will do, thanks, Mitchell," says Andy with a wave.

"Yeah, see you later, mate," George adds.

"How much you want to bet he forgets the shopping?" Annie comments as he exits, narrowing her eyes at the door.

Andy stifles a laugh into his mug.

"_I'll_ do the shopping after work," says George tiredly.

"_You_ don't have time," she counters.

"_I_ could-"

"No!" she cuts Andy off. "You are a guest in this house, and seeing as _I'm_ invisible, it's George and Mitchell's job to do the shopping."

"It's just milk and tea. We'll be fine for one more day," says George.

"So does our plan still hold for tonight?" asks Andy.

"Yes. I'll leave work around six-thirty; tell them it's a family emergency or something, then I'll come back to the house. Should be plenty of time."

Andy nods. "We should be good with that."

"Right then," says George, rising from the table and retrieving his keys. "I'm off."

"Call if there's any trouble. I'm sure I could come up with some creative solution to get you out of work if need be," he adds with a grin.

George simply waves at him and then he's out the door.

"Is it really safe," Annie asks once he's gone, "the two of you transforming in the same place?"

"Absolutely," Andy answers. "Besides, it's not like we'll be locked in a room together or anything; there'll be plenty of space. Plus I think we've spent enough time together that there should be some familiarity there. We won't see each other as a threat."

She nods. "I bet he's nervous though. First full moon since you got here and all."

"He'll be fine," he assures her. "You'll see."

* * *

Mitchell sits behind the desk in a back office of the funeral parlor, staring down at a pile of papers with his head in his hands. Ever since he got the clan moved back in, he has avoided Herrick's office like the plague. Now he feels he can ignore it no longer.

The office is filled with filing cabinets, which in turn are filled with an endless number of business ledgers and documents detailing Herrick's future plans, as well as an extensive list of the names of recruits; both actual and perspective, including some key members of the community.

Mitchell is beginning to think that his late Sire had gone a bit more insane than he initially thought before the end. Heaven help him if he can make any sense out of the older man's endless scrawling notes.

He's just debating whether or not to simply set fire to the whole mess when a sudden presence in the doorway commands his attention.

"Now there's a sight I never thought I'd see," drawls a voice. "John Mitchell behind a desk."

"What do you want, Ivan?" is the strained reply.

"You know, you and I should really work on our greetings," he answers reprovingly.

Mitchell simply glares at him.

"Actually, I came to congratulate you," says Ivan, strolling inside and taking the seat across from him. "It's been, what, two weeks since you got this place up and running again? Yet the building is still standing; no one's killed anyone lately."

"Thanks," Mitchell answers, giving him a look, "I think."

"What's all this?" he asks, nodding toward the pile of papers strewn about the desk.

Mitchell sighs. "Herrick's records," he answers. "I'm trying to reconcile the numbers. People he actually recruited verses the ones that are left in the clan. I'm trying to account for everyone. Damned if I can make heads or tails of it, though." He rubs at his temples absently, eyes scanning the scrawling text. He can definitely feel a headache coming on.

"Need any help?"

Mitchell stares at him. "I'm sorry?"

"I'm asking you if you want my help."

When Mitchell hesitates to respond, Ivan sighs and leans forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "Mitchell," he begins, "I know I've been a bit hard on you since all this started-"

He scoffs. "That's one way to put it."

Ivan ignores this. "But I just wanted to make sure you were up to the task. I know this is a lot to manage on your own; especially with as little experience as you have in these matters, but I think you have proven that you will do whatever it takes to get the job done, and I respect that. And so… I am offering you my help."

Mitchell studies him for a moment, looking for any trace of a hidden motive behind those cold, dark eyes. To his surprise, as far as he can determine, Ivan appears entirely sincere.

"Ok, I'll bite," he answers, leaning back in his chair. "What did you have in mind?"

"Well, let me deal with all this for starters," Ivan answers, indicating the mess of papers. "You should be focusing your efforts on the members of this clan. Let me handle the business side of things."

Mitchell considers this. In truth, he _has_ wanted to spend more time working with the clan itself. There are still so many that don't know the basics of how to manage their condition. He has ideas on how to efficiently address the issue, but he's been too busy with everything else to put any of his plans into practice. That and he really is at a total loss as to how to deal with all the logistics. _Well, _he thinks, _what can it hurt?_.

"Alright," he says. "We'll give it a shot."

* * *

George walks the hospital corridor, trying not to check his watch for the hundredth time today. He's used to being on edge right before a full moon, but this time is a bit different.

On the one hand, the prospect of going through a Change with another werewolf is a little scary. While Andy has assured him that it's perfectly safe, he still has this fear that they will only attack each other. On the other hand, this will be the first time he is sharing this experience with someone else. While he would certainly never wish this curse on anyone, he is a bit selfishly relieved not to be going through it alone.

Thinking it's pretty close to time by now, George checks his watch again; _6:25PM_. That's close enough.

He starts to double back toward the locker room, picking up the pace as he gets closer. He rounds the corner and nearly collides with the _last_ person he had hoped to run into right now.

"Nina!"

"George!"

He clears his throat, trying to force his voice back down an octave. "Evening."

"Where are you off to in such a hurry?"

"Family emergency. My, uh, cousin has taken ill. I've got to head home."

Nina quirks an eyebrow at him. "Your… cousin?"

"Yeah," he nods. "He's visiting from New Zealand. I think he's not quite adjusted yet to the, uh, weather. You know the seasons are opposite? In New Zealand."

"Right…" She gives him a strange look. "Well, I'd better let you go then."

"Yeah, I'll see you later."

"George," she calls before he gets too far. "I'd like to meet your cousin. When he's feeling better, of course."

"Sure," he answers. "Great. I'll arrange it."

Nina gives him a nod and George disappears down the corridor, leaving her staring at his back.

He arrives back at the house a little before seven and Andy is waiting for him. He tosses a duffle next to George's on the back seat before climbing in on the passenger's side with a paper bag in his hands.

"What's that?" George inquires, nodding toward the bag.

"Sandwiches," he answers with a grin.

"Oh, I couldn't eat now. Not before."

"Actually, I've found that it's best to eat right before a Change," Andy explains. "See, if you go into it hungry, you're a lot more likely to go after animals in the woods. Have you ever woken up next to a deer carcass the morning after? It's not pleasant." He offers George the bag. "Eat the sandwich. Bambi makes for a lousy breakfast."

George has to laugh a little at that. "I'll take your word for it," he says, reaching into the bag.

He parks the car in a place he hopes it won't be disturbed overnight and the two set off into the woods. They come to an old shed hidden well back in the trees and Andy waves him inside.

"I found this place a couple of weeks ago and I've been keeping an eye on it. Nobody ever comes here, so it should be safe and we can leave our stuff. It should also serve as a good center point."

He hauls the duffle bag on top of the table in the center of the room and opens it up. As he pulls out a garbage bag from the inside and empties its contents, George stares at him incredulously.

"Is that a chicken?"

"On a string," Andy grins, holding it aloft. "We're gonna use it to create a perimeter."

"A perimeter?"

He nods. "Come on, I'll show you."

Andy leads George back out of the shed and away from it, dragging the chicken behind him.

"This is actually a pretty common practice amongst most of the werewolves I've encountered," he explains. "What you do is start from a center point, which for us will be this shed, and drag the chicken in a wide circle. Maybe about a mile in diameter. So what'll happen is, after you've transformed, you'll pick up the scent of the chicken, follow it, and it'll just keep taking you in a circle. That way you'll stay contained in a specific area for the night. You don't have to worry about wandering into a nearby village because the trail will always lead back here."

"That's brilliant."

Andy shrugs. "Like I said; it's a common practice. Simple, but effective."

When they finish their circle, the two return to the shed and Andy takes a seat on the ground, leaning against a nearby tree.

"Won't be long now," he observes, gazing up at the sky. "It's getting darker."

George takes a seat beside him and leans against the tree, studying him curiously. "How do you do it?" He eventually asks.

"Do what?"

"You're just so," he waves a hand in Andy's direction, searching for the right word, "_relaxed_. I feel like I'm about to explode."

Andy ponders this for a moment before answering. "Do you ever hear about car accidents where there's a drunk driver involved? How it always seems as though the person who was drinking walks away from the accident while the other ends up seriously injured?"

George nods. "It always seems terribly ironic."

"But do you know why that's so often the case?"

He shakes his head.

"If you were about to be in an accident; you can see it coming and there's no avoiding it, what is your first instinct going to be?"

George shrugs. "To brace for impact, I suppose."

"Exactly," says Andy. "The problem is, sometimes bracing like that can actually cause more harm than good. You see, when you create that kind of resistance in your body against that kind of force, it can cause you to break bones. You follow?"

"I think so."

"So consider the driver who's been drinking," he continues. "They're relaxed. Probably hardly aware of what's happening around them. They don't even see the accident coming. The crash happens, they walk away with minor injuries."

"So, are you suggesting we get pissed before the full moon?" asks George with a grin.

Andy laughs. "No, I don't think that would be wise. I think the day after the full moon can feel like enough of a hangover as it is. Best not to mix it with alcohol. Besides, that isn't always the case with the driver either; walking away from the accident. It's just an analogy. But think of it in terms of the transformation; are you relaxed, or are you bracing for impact?"

George sighs. "Definitely bracing for impact."

He nods. "Don't. Your resistance is what's going to make it harder on you. You see the Change as something that happens _to_ you, like an outside force, but it's actually a _part_ of you. If you yield to it, in the right conditions, just let it happen, I can promise you that it will be much easier."

George sits quietly for a moment, considering all that he said. "Does it still hurt? When I saw you transform that first time at the house, it was like you didn't even feel it."

"That's a little different," he admits. "When you control the Change, it's actually easier. Especially the more practiced you are. The problem during the full moon is that the Change is forced; you have no choice in it, so it does hurt. But the more you stop resisting it, you'll find that it hurts a lot less."

Right on cue, they both seize up as each is struck by a sudden sharp pain.

"It's starting," says Andy. He reaches out a hand, squeezing George's shoulder. "Just focus on your breathing. It helps."

"Do you think we should be so close together?" George asks as another spasm tears through him.

"Let's spread out a little bit," he answers, getting to his feet. He offers George a hand to pull him up, when he suddenly stops, standing stock still.

"Did you hear that?" Andy asks, scanning the surrounding trees.

"I thought you said no one ever comes here."

"I've never seen another soul," he responds.

"Well, maybe it's just a-" George cuts himself off as he catches movement over Andy's shoulder and his eyes go wide. "_Nina?_"

Andy spins around as the blonde emerges from the trees behind him looking as surprised to see him as he is to see her standing there.

"George?" She steps closer, glancing from one to the other. "So this is where you've been disappearing to."

"Nina, you shouldn't be here, it isn't-" he gets cut off as a sharp pain tears through him and he doubles over with the intensity of it.

"George?" She tries to go to him, but Andy catches her arm.

"Keep away from him," he warns.

Nina whirls on him. "What the hell is going on? Who are you?"

"My name is Andy, I'm a friend of George. Look, there isn't time to explain, but you need to get as far away from here as you can. It's not safe."

A sudden cry escapes George and he drops to the ground on all fours. Andy stumbles as he begins to feel the force of the Change as well. He is a lot stronger than George, but he won't be able to hold it off much longer.

Nina reaches for George, but Andy tightens his hold on her arm to keep her back.

"Nina, you can't help him, you need to run!"

"I'm not leaving him like this!" She wrenches her arm from his grasp as a sharp pain tears through him, and it is all Andy can do to keep his feet.

"George?"

A clawed hand swipes out at her and Nina throws herself backward, landing on the ground with a startled cry.

Andy throws himself between them and with the last ounce of energy he has, he calls out to her one last time.

"Nina, run! Don't look back, _just go_!"

Thankfully she heeds him, and as Nina flees the woods she can hear the howls behind her as the Change takes George and Andy both.

* * *

Nina runs faster than she ever has in her life and she does not stop. Even as her feet find the familiar streets of Totterdown, she still doesn't stop. She won't go home, not until she gets some answers, and right now there is only one place she can think of, one _person_ rather, that she believes can tell her what she needs to know.

She reaches the corner house, feet aching and with a stitch in her side. The lights are on inside, so he _must_ be home. Still breathing hard, she raises a hand and knocks on the door.

For a long moment there is no answer and she begins to fear that they both just left the house with the lights on. She catches a flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye and is surprised to see the face of a young woman peeking out at her through the curtains in the window.

"Hello," she calls, waving at the figure. "I'm sorry to bother you, but I'm looking for Mitchell. Please, it's an emergency."

The figure stares back at her with an expression of shock before finally vacating the window. Nina hears the lock turn and the door opens slowly, revealing a grey clad figure in the doorway.

"You can see me?" is the strange greeting.

"What? Yes, of course I can see you. Why wouldn't I?"

She shakes her head dismissively, brown curls bouncing as she does so. "Never mind, sorry. I'm Annie. And you're Nina, right? George talks a lot about you."

"Right," she nods, growing impatient. "Listen, is Mitchell at home? I really need to speak with him, it's important."

"Of course," says Annie. "Come on in."

"Thank you."

"Mitchell isn't here right now," she continues, ushering Nina inside. "I'm afraid he's been out all day, but I imagine he'll be home soon."

"I can wait, if that's alright," replies Nina.

"Of course."

Annie leads her to a seat in the living room and for a long moment the two sit in awkward silence.

"Would you like some tea?" Annie finally asks.

"That would be lovely, thank you."

Annie hops up from her chair looking relieved and bustles off to the kitchen to put the kettle on, leaving Nina alone with her thoughts.

She feels completely restless just sitting here like this and can only hope that Mitchell will return soon. He's George's best friend and she is confident that he is the only person who can provide her with any answers at this point. She is very curious about Annie, though. Nina is sure she's never seen her before, and George and Mitchell have certainly never mentioned her. She is about to inquire as to how Annie knows the pair when she hears the sound of a key turning in the lock. She springs to her feet as the door opens and Mitchell steps inside.

"Hey, Annie. How did-" Mitchell stops short as he catches sight of Nina standing in the living room. His gaze flicks to Annie briefly as the brunette moves to stand in the doorway before he turns back to Nina, at a loss for words.

"It's ok," says Annie. "She can see me."

"_Why_ do you keep saying that?" asks Nina. "You know what, never mind. It's not exactly pressing."

Mitchell clears his throat. "Nina, George isn't here right now. He's, um-"

"I _know_ where George is."

He stares at her. "You do?"

"Yes. I saw him, and his friend, or whoever he is, in the woods just now." She takes a deep breath. "Please tell me you can explain to me what the hell is going on."

Mitchell looks completely stunned. "Maybe we'd better sit down."

The two take their seats in the living room, Annie following shortly after with a mug in her hands.

"It's some herbal thing that George drinks," she explains, handing Nina the mug. "Sorry, but it's all we had. _Someone_ forgot to do the shopping." She gives Mitchell a pointed look and he fights the urge to roll his eyes.

"It's fine, thank you," says Nina.

"So, you said you saw George in the woods?" Mitchell prompts, trying to get back on point.

"Yes. And there was a man with him; Andy, he said his name was."

He nods. "Go on."

"Well," she struggles to find the words. "There was something _wrong_ with George, like he was in pain, and Andy didn't want me to go near him. He said it wasn't _safe_, but I thought he was being ridiculous. What could possibly be unsafe about _George?_ Besides, I'm a nurse; I figured whatever was wrong with him, I should be able to help. So I got close to him, where he was kneeling on the ground, and-" she trails off and Annie lays a comforting hand on her shoulder, "he struck out at me. Only his hand, well, it didn't look like a normal hand. It was like he had… _claws_."

Nina looks up at Mitchell expecting him to look stunned, _laugh_ even, because the whole thing sounded completely ridiculous. Instead, she finds herself gazing into a pair of brown eyes that are not only painfully unsurprised, but even a little sad.

"You knew about this, didn't you?" she accuses.

"Nina-"

"No," she cuts him off. "I want you to _explain to me_ what I saw. I'm tired of being in the dark. I want the truth."

Mitchell sighs. "I'm not sure I'm the one who should be telling you this."

"Well, if I have to wait for George to get back I'm going to go completely mad. So apparently that leaves me with you."

"Ok," he replies, feeling utterly defeated. "The truth is… George is a werewolf." He pauses for a reaction, letting the word hang in the air. To his surprise, Nina simply nods.

"Ok," she says. "How long has he… been like this, exactly?"

Mitchell thinks about it for a second. "About two years, more or less. It happened before I met him."

"And the man he was with, is he one too?"

"Yes," he answers.

"Did he make George a…?" She can't bring herself to say it just yet.

"No," he says firmly. "Andy's only been with us less than a month. A friend of mine sent him here to help George learn how to manage it. He's been great."

"Wait, a friend of _yours_ sent, why would a friend of yours know someone who could help George manage it? What sort of friend?"

"I… know people," he answers evasively.

"People like George?"

He sighs. "Not exactly."

Nina narrows her eyes at him suspiciously. "What sort of _people_ do you mean then?"

"Well-"

"He means _his_ kind of people," Annie answers for him, growing impatient. "_Vampires_."

"Annie!"

"What?" she says defensively. "You've just told her that her boyfriend's a _werewolf_. The cat's out of the bag now, I don't see any point in hiding anymore."

Nina stares between them. "Wait. So, you're telling me that _Mitchell_ is a vampire? You can't be serious." She laughs. "So, is that why George never wants me to look in the refrigerator? Are you keeping a supply of blood stored in there?"

"Actually, no," says Annie. "He just doesn't want you to see the state of it; that refrigerator is ghastly. Mitchell keeps the blood upstairs."

"_Annie!_ For God's sake-"

"Oh, and I'm a ghost, by the way," she continues most unhelpfully. "That's why I was surprised you could see me. Usually it's just supernaturals like George and Mitchell. And Andy now, of course. Oh! And Mitchell's friend; the one he was talking about. His name is Lucian. He's a vampire as well; a really _old_ vampire, actually, though he certainly doesn't look it. I like Lucian, he's lovely. _And_ he's probably the only person who can manage _this one_," she finishes, nudging Mitchell's shoulder.

He groans, burying his head in his hands.

For a moment the three sit in silence. Annie, thankfully, has run out of information to reveal, Nina is stunned, and Mitchell is too busy trying to figure out how he go into this mess to have any more to say.

"Well," says Nina, finally. "You guys got anything stronger than tea?"

* * *

They agree to have Nina stay the night, and before long she is settled in with a glass of wine, chatting amiably with Annie who is perfectly thrilled to have someone else to talk to, to be honest.

Mitchell leaves a message on George's phone giving him a heads up on Nina, though he knows he won't get it until morning. He figures George will be relieved that she hasn't bolted, given the circumstances.

He is just thinking of heading to bed when a sudden thought strikes him.

"Nina," he asks. "What were you doing out in the woods in the first place?"

"Oh," says Nina. "You know, I almost forget. Actually, it's even more strange now that I think about it." She rises from her seat and goes for her jacket, searching the pockets until she finds a folded piece of paper. She crosses the room and hands it to Mitchell. "I found this in my locker before I left work for the evening."

Mitchell unfolds the paper and scans the page, his brow creasing as he reads the contents of the note. It describes the location of George and Andy's meeting place in detail with clear instructions on how to find it. All of this is accompanied by a simple invitation in neat handwriting.

_If you'd like to find out what your boyfriend has been up to, come and see._

"At first I thought maybe it was George trying to be funny," Nina is saying. "Or maybe one of the nurses, but now.."

Mitchell shakes his head. "Well, it's a woman's handwriting, I can tell that much."

"Oh, so you're a handwriting expert now," Annie comments, peeking at the note over his shoulder.

He gives her a sideways look. "I was born at the end of the nineteenth century. Most correspondence was handwritten. There are some things you never really forget."

Nina raises her eyebrows at him. "_End of the nineteenth century_. So how old are you then?"

"A hundred and sixteen," he answers matter-of-factly.

She nods slowly, allowing this information to sink in, and takes a long drink of her wine. "Of course you are," she says mostly to herself, returning to her seat on the other side of the room.

Mitchell exchanges a look with Annie. He has a feeling that they are _all_ going to have a lot to adjust to now.

* * *

Mitchell roams the endless corridors, passing door after door, but no matter how many he comes to he can't seem to find the exit.

The old warehouse is eerily quiet as he walks the halls. As he rounds another corner, he spots an open door just ahead that he feels strangely drawn to. He enters the room and there is something familiar about the place, though he can't seem to identify it.

There are a few dust covered tables strewn about the room and in each of the four walls is set a separate door that opens out into an adjoining room or hallway. As he moves toward the center of the room, the door suddenly slams shut behind him. He whirls around and catches sight of a hauntingly familiar face sneering at him through the small window. _Herrick_.

He tries to open the door, but it's no use; he's locked inside. He goes to the next door and so on until he has tried every exit with the same result. There is no way out.

Mitchell hears a sound behind him that makes his blood run cold and he turns around slowly. Standing in the center of the room is a fully transformed werewolf, and it is staring right at him.

He backs into the door behind him, but there is no escape. The Wolf lunges, pinning him against the door, and he can feel the claws tearing at his flesh. A pair of strong jaws clamp down on his throat...

Mitchell awakens with a start, breathing hard, his eyes searching the darkness. When he finds himself once again safe in his own bedroom, he collapses against the pillows with a groan. His eyes flick habitually to the clock on the bedside table where the little red numbers glare at him through the darkness. _3:34AM_. He sighs. It's always between three and four in the morning.

While he had not been particularly thrilled with the concept of moving the clan back into the funeral parlor, he had felt it was a better option than the continued meetings in the old warehouse. He had hoped that if he stopped exposing himself to that place during waking hours that he would cease to visit it in his dreams. It seems he is not so fortunate.

He rolls over onto his stomach in an effort to get comfortable, but his muscles are so tense that this aids him little. He rubs at the back of his neck, trying to work out the knot that has formed, before he eventually gives up and shifts again, curling up on his side.

Mitchell releases a long sigh. He doesn't know how much longer he can go on like this.

He still hasn't breathed a word to anyone about these nightly disturbances. He has been holding on to the hope that they'll just stop on their own, but now...

But he can't think too much on it. Dwelling on what he can't control never accomplishes anything. He finally feels like he's gaining ground with the clan; he can't lose sight of what's going _right_ for once.

He actually got a lot accomplished in his time with Ivan today; a phenomenon he still has a difficult time wrapping his brain around. Ivan can be a complete dick, but at least he has decided to be helpful now instead of antagonizing him, and for that Mitchell is grateful. He has high hopes that things are going to really start moving forward. If only he wasn't so _tired_ all the time.

As the moments pass, his eyelids begin to feel heavy and he doesn't have the strength to fight it anymore. Hopefully he's filled his quota for the evening and he won't find himself wandering those too familiar halls again. Finally, his eyes fall closed and he drifts into a fitful sleep.

* * *

Nina stands leaning against the bathroom sink long after the others have retired for the night. As she thinks over the day's events, she finds that there is little she can make any sense out of. Vampires, ghosts, werewolves… those things are supposed to be fairy tales, not fact.

She rolls up her sleeve to the elbow, studying her forearm for probably the tenth time tonight, and runs her fingers over the grooves in her skin.

Somewhere in the distance, Nina swears she can hear wolves howling at the moon.

* * *

**_I'm feeling a bit sadistic on this chapter. Can't I ever just let things go right for these guys? No. No I can't. It is my purpose to cause pain. But hey, that's what makes it interesting right?_**

**_So, Nina's back! Hopefully this pleases some of you. I have certainly been neglecting her, I think._**

**_I hope you enjoyed all the George and Andy. It's a relationship that's still developing, but I'm pretty happy with where it's going._**

**_I do need to list a source for this chapter. I actually came across the Irish werewolf thing on tumblr a couple of months ago and I have kept it in the back of my mind ever since for the purpose of this story. I love lore and that was probably one of the coolest bits of werewolf lore I have ever come across. Also the most unique. The link for the article I quoted can be found here:_**** www dot ancientworlds dot net/aw/Article/1203825**

**_Speaking of sources; some of you may be wondering about the drunk driver analogy that Andy used. For that, I don't have a source and can offer no statistics to support what was said. It was actually based on a conversation I had with my sister about an article she read somewhere, but I can claim nothing as fact. To me, it just made sense from a logical standpoint and I thought it served as a good analogy._**

**_So I hope you enjoyed this one! I feel like I've been boring you guys with the last couple of chapters, so hopefully this one was more interesting._**

**_I'm launching right into writing the next chapter as we speak as I was originally planning to do these two as one, so expect an update soon!_**

**_Thanks for reading and, as always, I thrive on your feedback. ;)_**


	6. Broken Crown

**Chapter 6: Broken Crown**

_**Touch my mouth and hold my tongue  
I'll never be your chosen one  
I'll be home safe and tucked away  
Well you can't tempt me if I don't see the day**_

_**The pull on my flesh was just too strong**_  
_**Stifled the choice and the air in my lungs**_  
_**Better not to breathe than to breathe a lie**_  
_**'Cause when I open my body I breathe a lie**_

_**I will not speak of your sins**_  
_**There was a way out for him**_  
_**The mirror shows not**_  
_**Your values are all shot**_

_**But oh, my heart was flawed I knew my weakness**_  
_**So hold my hand consign me not to darkness**_

_**So crawl on my belly 'til the sun goes down**_  
_**I'll never wear your broken crown**_  
_**I took the road and I fucked it all away**_  
_**Now in this twilight, how dare you speak of grace…**_

_**So crawl on my belly 'til the sun goes down**_  
_**I'll never wear your broken crown**_  
_**I can take the road and I can fuck it all away**_  
_**But in this twilight, our choices seal our fate**_

_**- Broken Crown by Mumford & Sons**_

* * *

Andy sits at the kitchen table with his coffee while George and Nina exchange morning farewells as she heads off to work. He studies the pair intently, giving a nod when Nina waves at him over George's shoulder. Once she steps out, George closes the door behind her and shuffles into the kitchen, taking the seat across from him.

"How's she been holding up?" asks Andy.

"She's… adjusting," he answers, sounding a little strained. "It's a lot to take in, all this."

Andy gives him a sympathetic nod. "I know," he says. "It seems like she and Annie have been getting along though."

He smiles a little at that. "Yeah. Except sometimes I think they get along _too_ well. If Annie isn't complaining about where I put the dishes, Nina is moaning about where I leave my socks." He shakes his head. "Between the two of them, I think we may have created a monster."

"Come on, it's not that bad," he answers with a grin.

"Easy for you to say. You're Annie's favorite and Nina thinks you're too _charming_ to do any wrong."

Andy laughs. "If you say so."

George glances around, suddenly looking as if he has misplaced something. "Have you seen Mitchell?" he asks. "I know he can sleep like the dead sometimes, no pun intended, but I figured he would have been up by now."

Andy shakes his head. "You know, I don't think I heard him get in last night, either."

He frowns. "He's been doing that a lot lately. I've tried asking him about it, but every time I do he gets all defensive."

"I'm sure he's just stressed," Andy responds. "And he knows that _you're _stressed, so maybe he just doesn't want to add to it. Plus, Mitchell sort of strikes me as one who tends to keep things to himself."

George sighs. "That's what I'm worried about."

"I'm sure it'll be alright," he assures him. "Let him come around. By the way, have you talked to Nina any more about that note? Does she have any leads on who could have put it in her locker?"

He shakes his head. "Not a clue. There's one more thing for us to worry about."

"Well, we need to find another place to transform, then," says Andy. "We've got less than a week until the next full moon."

George groans. "Don't remind me."

* * *

Nina sits in the ladies room at the hospital with Annie, pulling her sleeve back down as wide brown eyes stare at her in shock.

"Have you told anyone else?" asks Annie. "Does George know?"

The blonde shakes her head.

"Nina! It's been _weeks_. You should have said something."

"I didn't think it would be a problem," Nina responds. "I mean, he didn't _bite _me, it's just a scratch. I had hoped it wouldn't have an effect, but now..."

"Now, what?" Annie prompts.

"I've been having nightmares. I'm at work and my flesh tears, I grow claws and fangs and go rampaging through the corridors. I'm afraid it means I'm going to _Change_."

Annie furrows her brow, deep in thought. "You should talk to Andy," she says resolutely. "If you won't talk to George, at least talk to him, he can help."

"If I tell Andy, he won't keep it from George. You know that."

"Well," she says. "Maybe you should tell them both. You can't do this on your own, Nina. There's no telling what could happen. At least let them help you. Besides, it could be nothing. Either way, I bet Andy will know. Don't you want to find out for sure?"

Nina sighs. "I suppose you're right."

Annie pats her arm reassuringly. "Good. We'll tell them tonight. Better not to wait, I think."

The blonde simply nods. Truthfully, she can wait forever.

* * *

George walks the hospital corridor late in the afternoon, pushing a cart of cleaning supplies when he catches a familiar sight at the end of the hallway. He walks a little faster, hoping to catch him before he disappears around the corner.

"Mitchell!"

The dark-haired vampire turns at the voice, greeting George with a tired smile. "Hey. I didn't know you were on tonight."

"Well, as little as we see you anymore, that doesn't surprise me," he answers.

"Yeah, sorry," says Mitchell, averting his gaze. "I've been pretty busy lately."

"What, too busy to even come home? Where were you all night?"

"Just out," is the evasive response. "Vampire stuff. Look, why is it so important to you?"

"Like I said, we never see you," George answers crossly. "You should hear Annie on the subject. She gave me an ear-full about you the other day."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, she seems to think that you've not been doing your share of the house work; the shopping and the washing up. She says _Andy _helps out more than you do," he answers.

"Well, I've had a lot on lately, you know?"

"I know," says George. "But it would be nice if you at least picked up a pint of milk once in a while."

Mitchell looks at him incredulously. "Look, I'm sorry I've been too busy managing the whole of Bristol's _vampire population_ to 'pick up the milk,' ok? It's not exactly been top of my list."

"It's not about the bloody milk," he says, exasperated. "You put _everything_ second to 'vampire stuff' anymore. And when I ask about it, you get all defensive and won't even talk to me. What are you hiding from us?"

"I'm not _hiding_ anything!" he answers indignantly. "Why do you care so much about the day-to-day affairs of the clan anyway? If there was anything to worry about, I'd tell you. Don't you trust me?"

"It's not that." George sighs. "I just… I don't understand why a group of what basically amount to strangers are suddenly so much more important to you."

Mitchell stares at him. "What are you saying?"

He takes a moment to answer as he gathers his thoughts. "Look, Nina finding out about all this has not been easy. I thought maybe things would get better between us since I wouldn't have to lie to her anymore, but I feel like in some ways it's getting worse. That and I feel like there is _something_ that she's not telling me and I'm afraid to find out what it is."

Mitchell shrugs. "So, what's your point?"

"My _point_ is, I could use your support. It'd be nice to have my best friend back," he answers, giving him a mournful look.

"You've got Andy," he offers. "I thought you two were getting along great."

"Andy's brilliant. He's a good friend, but we haven't really known each other for very long. He isn't…" George sighs. "He isn't _you_."

Mitchell shakes his head. "Look, I'm sorry about Nina, I really am. But that's what relationships are like; there's ups and downs. You've got to figure this stuff out on your own. I can't hold your hand through it."

"Thanks," is the sarcastic response.

"That's what mates are for," he answers. "To tell each other the truth. Even if it isn't necessarily what you wanted to hear."

George stares at him. "What's happened to you? It's like I don't even know you anymore."

Mitchell averts his gaze, choosing instead to stare at the opposite wall. "I have to go," he says finally. And without waiting on another word from George, he turns on his heel and heads off down the hallway.

* * *

George finishes the rest of his shift trying his best to avoid human contact as he's feeling extremely irritable and doesn't wish to take out his frustrations on any innocent victims.

He doesn't see Nina all day, but then their shifts only overlapped for about an hour or so and he assumes she was busy.

By the time he starts to head home, all he wants to do is crash on the couch in front of the television and simply stop thinking for a while. He is tired of stressing about everything.

As he walks in the door, however, he is overwhelmed by a sudden wave of apprehension as he catches sight of Andy, Nina, and Annie gathered in the living room. The three exchange glances at his approach and Nina stands, turning to face him.

"I have something to tell you."

* * *

Mitchell keeps his distance over the next few days, choosing instead to bury himself in his work with the clan. Most nights he doesn't even bother coming home. It's not like he gets much sleep these days anyway. He figures he's better off getting things done.

He hates being at odds with George, but he honestly doesn't know how to resolve things at this point. He is so exhausted anymore that it's hard to even think straight at times.

He doesn't speak to anyone for days until one night he comes home to find Andy up waiting for him.

"Mitchell, I need to talk to you," is his greeting the moment he walks in the door. The urgency in his tone immediately sets Mitchell on edge.

"What is it?" he asks while he locks up behind him and hangs his jacket by the door.

Andy waves him into the kitchen and the two sit down at the table.

"It's Nina," he begins. "She's been acting really strange over the last couple of weeks. And I've never been able to make any sense out of the fact that she can see Annie when she is still invisible to other humans. I was beginning to suspect..." he sighs. "Well, it doesn't matter because she finally came out and told us. That night she found George and I in the woods; I thought I had gotten between them in time, but it turns out I didn't. He scratched her."

Mitchell releases a breath, running his hands through his hair. "So, what's gonna happen then? He wasn't fully transformed; is she still gonna Change?"

Andy shakes his head. "We can't be sure until the full moon, but honestly... she's been showing all the signs."

"Does George know?"

"Yeah," he answers sadly. "He was pretty upset about it." Andy studies him for a moment as Mitchell sits in silence, mulling things over. "Look, I know you've been dealing with a lot lately," he begins. "I've spent most of my life drifting from place to place, and I've gotten pretty good at reading people. But, if you could just talk to him, maybe he'll come around. He isn't too interested in anything that I have to say right now."

Mitchell nods. "Alright, I'll give it a shot," he says. "But, honestly, I'm not holding on to much hope that he'll listen to me either."

* * *

The next morning Mitchell comes downstairs to find George seated in the living room with Andy, Nina having already left for work. Upon his approach, Andy gets up and goes to talk to Annie in the kitchen, exchanging a glance with Mitchell as he passes.

"So, you _do _still live here," is George's greeting as Mitchell takes a seat.

"Yeah, I suppose," he answers mildly.

"When did you get it? I never heard you come home last night."

Mitchell smiles a little at that. "I'm a vampire; moving silently in the dark sort of comes with the territory."

George offers a weak smile in return. "I suppose that should have been obvious."

There is an awkward pause and Mitchell finally decides to just cut to the chase. "Look, I, uh, I heard about Nina."

George simply nods, choosing to stare at the opposite wall.

"But, you know, it might be alright," he ventures. "She may not have even got the Curse."

"You know there is little to no chance of that," George answers evenly.

"But even if she did, she's got you and Andy to teach her how to manage it. You could work together-"

"She shouldn't _have_ to manage it," he cuts him off. "She shouldn't have got it in the first place." He gives Mitchell a hard look. "Did Andy put you up to this?"

"What? No!" he lies. "I mean, he told me what happened, but..."

George shakes his head. "Look, I don't want to talk about _managing it_, alright? Let's just-" he sighs. "Just let me get through the next couple of days, alright? The full moon is only two nights away; we won't know anything until then."

Mitchell studies him for a moment before giving a nod of understanding. "Ok."

"Thank you," he responds.

"Well, I'm gonna headed out," Mitchell says after a pause. "I'll see you later."

He gets to his feet and crosses the room, reaching for his jacket hanging by the door.

"You're going to the funeral parlor, aren't you?" George asks. "That's where you always go."

Mitchell stops. "How do you know about that?"

"It was a guess, actually," he responds, getting to his feet and folding his arms across his chest. "But seeing as you've just confirmed it."

Mitchell sighs. "It's a place to go," he answers evenly. "Most of them don't really have anywhere else. I'm just trying to maintain a sense of order here."

"By reopening _Herrick's_ place? You're not still bringing bodies in there, are you?"

"Only when someone's newly Turned," he admits.

"_Mitchell!_" George looks appalled. "So, what? Are you _recruiting _now? Is that what you've been afraid to tell us?"

"No." He pinches the bridge of his nose. He can suddenly feel a headache coming on. "Look, people get Turned; it happens. Friends, family, lovers; when a person is faced with the prospect of living forever, most decide that they would rather not spend it alone. There's nothing against the Law about Turning someone so long as it is their choice. So, yes, I'm giving them a place to bring them when they die. We have a process."

"And what if the blood supply runs out?" he counters. "You've said yourself you all have to be careful enough as it is. So now you're gonna let them make _more_ vampires?"

"Look, I'm doing the best I can, alright? I don't need you on my back about it too. This doesn't even concern you."

"_Doesn't concern-_" George looks angry now and Andy emerges from the kitchen to stand in the doorway, Annie close behind.

"No, Mitchell," he continues. "It doesn't concern me at all that in the, what, two months that you've been the head of the clan, instead of stabilizing your present numbers, you are allowing them to create _more monsters_."

"_George_-" Andy admonishes softly, but it isn't necessary. The moment the words are out of his mouth, George knows he has gone too far.

"And I am the chiefest among them, aren't I?" is the bitter retort. "Or have you forgotten that I'm one of them? That _I've_ killed more than any of them? I'd probably still be like that if someone else hadn't helped me change. Now it's _my_ responsibility to help them. But you don't want to look at that side of it. Instead you're just compartmentalizing what I am like you do with your own condition so that you can feel normal, is that it?"

Mitchell is standing very close to him now and Andy takes a step forward, ready to get between them if necessary. "Easy, mate."

George sighs. "Mitchell, I didn't-"

"Don't," he cuts him off, shaking his head. "You deal with your _own_ monsters. Leave me to deal with mine." He takes a step back, reaching for the door handle. "Don't wait up," he calls over his shoulder. Then he steps outside, slamming the door behind him as he goes.

* * *

Mitchell sits in the back office of the funeral parlor while Ivan discusses their latest affairs, but Mitchell isn't hearing any of it. His mind is otherwise occupied. He can't stop thinking about this past week with George. Sure, the two have had their share of disagreements in the past, but never anything that wasn't resolved within a matter of hours, let alone the days that this has been going on.

He thought he could handle it all, but he is finally coming to realize that for all that he has put in to running this clan, he's losing the people he cares about the most. With all of his own personal struggles he's been dealing with, he just can't juggle both.

"I can't do this anymore," he says, cutting Ivan off mid-sentence. "I'm sorry, Ivan," he amends, realizing his error.

Ivan gives him a measured look. "I thought you seemed preoccupied," he answers. "What's on your mind?"

Mitchell sighs, raking his fingers through his hair. "It's just- I've come to the realization that I'm not cut out for this. I can't be a leader."

"But you _are_ leading them," Ivan counters. "You have made great progress with this clan; more so than anyone I have ever seen, especially someone your age. They respect you, and that is no small feat considering everything that has happened here."

"Then maybe I should quit while I'm ahead," he answers. "Because I know that I can't keep this up, I'm exhausted. I can't even keep the peace at home, I just- I feel like if I don't pull out now, my own problems are going to bleed into this and I don't want to undo everything that we've worked for."

"Trouble with your werewolf friend?" Ivan asks, sounding almost amused. "You know, I've never really understood what brought you two together, you're nothing alike. But, then again, Lucian has always had a bit of an eccentric taste in friends, so I suppose it comes as no surprise. Or is this more to do with the fact that you haven't been sleeping? Nightmares perhaps?"

Mitchell stares at him. "How could you possibly know about that?"

"I think it's a little obvious; the not sleeping, at least," he answers. "As for the reason; call it an educated guess."

Mitchell shakes his head. "I don't understand."

"Tell me something; was Lucian opposed to you killing Herrick?" Ivan asks.

He nods. "We argued about it a few times. Wait, how did you-"

"And you didn't think he had a reason?" Ivan cuts him off. "Mitchell, you killed your Sire. To a vampire, that is akin to committing patricide. Regardless of the fact that Herrick was a psychotic bastard, you don't walk away from something like that unscathed."

"He certainly had no qualms about killing _me_," he responds bitterly.

"That's because Herrick had no soul," Ivan answers. "Or a conscience, for that matter. You do. That's what he hated about you. No matter how hard he tried, you wouldn't be corrupted. You wouldn't be _him_. Lucian likely expected killing Herrick to have an effect on you, but you were too bent on revenge to listen to him." He leans forward in his chair, lowering his voice slightly. "Do you understand now what he was trying to protect you from?"

Mitchell nods slowly, averting his gaze.

"Mitchell, I understand if you need to take some time, but you don't have to step down completely."

He shakes his head. "I think they'll be much better off with you in charge. You know a lot more about this stuff than I do. I could never have done this much on my own." He looks at Ivan. "Will you take over?"

Ivan considers this. "If you're sure that's what you want."

"Yes," Mitchell answers. "I'm sure."

He nods. "Then it would be wise if you made a formal announcement. They need to hear it directly from you if you want a smooth transition. When would you like to have the meeting?"

"Tomorrow night," he answers without hesitation. "I don't want to wait."

"As you wish," says Ivan, rising from his seat. "Why don't you go on home then? I'll arrange it."

"You go on ahead," he responds. "I need to make a phone call."

Ivan looks at him curiously, appearing about to say something before deciding against it. Instead he simply tips his head in a departing nod and heads out the door.

Mitchell waits until he hears Ivan's retreating footsteps down the hall before reaching into his pocket to retrieve his phone. He scrolls through his contacts until he finds the one he's looking for and stares at the highlighted number on the screen for a moment, his thumb hovering over the keypad until he finally gains enough resolve to hit 'send.' As he listens to the seemingly endless ringing, he chews on his nails nervously. After about the fourth or fifth ring, it goes to automated voicemail and he releases a sigh as the robotic female voice on the other line gives instructions on how to leave a message. He waits for the tone.

"Hey, it's me. Well… obviously," he laughs a little nervously. "God, I hate these things. Listen, I know the reception has been terrible out there, so I don't know when you'll get this. Plus this thing's probably gonna cut me off so I'll get to the point. I, um- I'm giving over control of the clan to Ivan. Yes, I know, he can be a huge arsehole sometimes, but he's actually been helping me a lot over the past few weeks. He knows what he's doing and I trust him well enough for this. I think he's the right person for the job. He's definitely more qualified than I am. It's just- I can't-" he sighs, searching for the words. "It's George and Annie; I think Andy is the only one who isn't pissed at me right now. I feel like I'm losing them. And you don't even know about Nina yet…" He sighs. "Well, to make a long story short, we think George may have Turned her into a werewolf. We won't know for sure until the night after tomorrow; that's the next full moon. So now George is upset and he thinks I've abandoned him and Andy can't get through to him either and… this probably isn't making any sense." Mitchell drops his head onto the desk with a heavy sigh, keeping the phone to his ear. "I'm sorry for ranting like this, I probably should have just waited until I could reach you. I'm just so tired I can hardly think straight. Just- just give me a call if you get a chance ok? I'll talk to you soon."

He hangs up the phone and groans his frustration, resisting the urge to throw the thing across the room as he'll need it to handle the inevitable worried phone call he's going to receive from Lucian. Chalk that up to one more thing he has to fix now. He takes a glance around the room, thinking over how much time he's spent here over the past few weeks and realizes he's sick of the sight of it. It's time to go home.

* * *

**_Drama, drama, drama. Why do I enjoy writing it so much? (And we've barely scratched the surface of my plans. Mwahahahaha!)_**

**_I've been dying to use the song on this chapter for a while. Someone on tumblr pointed out that it's a perfect Mitchell/Herrick song and I wholeheartedly agree. It's all I can think about every time I listen to it now. I thought it was fitting here since we're still seeing the result of Mitchell being under his shadow for so long._**

**_I hope you guys enjoyed this one, it was more difficult of an undertaking than I originally perceived. We're really jumping into things now and I needed to get things moving forward! I hope it didn't seem too rushed._**

**_So, have you guys been missing Lucian? Because I HAVE! (I swear, I've been going through withdrawals. :P) He shall return in the next chapter along with a special guest appearance by a new character as portrayed by Sir Ian McKellen! I know, I know. This is becoming a bit of a (shameless) Hobbit cast crossover, but I needed someone with some clout to portray the head of the Council and Sir Ian fit perfectly in my mind. ;)_**

**_This next chapter shouldn't take me too terribly long, so stay tuned!_**

**_As always, thanks for reading and I look forward to your feedback!_**


	7. The High Road

**_I have been waiting to use this song since I first heard it because I have become a little obsessed with it. If I had to select a single theme for Mitchell and Lucian, this is it._**

**_I recently did a re-watch of the first season and in the second episode there was a scene that really struck me, and I can't believe that I had forgotten it. George and Mitchell are standing in the kitchen when Tully first enters the scene and they're discussing the prospect of him helping George learn how to manage his condition. Mitchell is trying to convince him to take the help and he says the line; _**

**_"If someone could teach me ways to control what I am, Jesus Christ, I'd jump at the chance."_**

**_I immediately thought of Lucian (whose name means "light") and the entire reason I started writing this series. Even more than just wanting to give Mitchell "a way out," so to speak, of being the monster, I wanted him to have that "someone" to rely on, because there were times in the series that I felt, as much as they loved him, George and Annie weren't enough._**

**_So now I bring you to Lucian and the Council. _**

**_For those of you who are like me and like to have a face to go with the names, I have cast my key Council members as follows: _**

**_Sir Ian McKellen as Victor, the head of the Council_**

**_Patricia Velasquez (from The Mummy) as Cassandra_**

**_Mads Mikkelsen (from Hannibal) as Stefan_**

**_Enjoy!_**

* * *

**Chapter 7: The High Road**

**_I told you I was hurt  
Bleeding on the inside  
I told you I was lost  
In the middle of my life_**

**_There's times I stayed alive for you_**  
**_There's times I would've died for you_**  
**_There's times it didn't matter at all_**

**_Will you help me find the right way up_**  
**_Or let me take the wrong way down_**  
**_Will you straighten me out_**  
**_Or make me take the long way around_**  
**_I took the low road in_**  
**_I'll take the high road out_**  
**_I'll do whatever it takes_**  
**_To be the mistake you can't live without_**

**_Standing in the dark_**  
**_I can see your shadow_**  
**_You're the only light_**  
**_That's breaking through the window_**

**_There's times I stayed alive for you_**  
**_There's times I would've died for you_**  
**_There's times it didn't matter at all…_**

**_We'll I'm not gonna give it away_**  
**_Not gonna let it go, just to wake up someday gone! Gone!_**  
**_The worst part is looking back_**  
**_And knowing that I was wrong_**

**_Help me find the right way up_**  
**_Or let me take the wrong way down_**  
**_Will you straighten me out_**  
**_Or make me take the long way around_**  
**_I took the low road in_**  
**_I'll take the high road out_**  
**_I'll do whatever it takes_**  
**_To be the mistake you can't live without…_**

**_- The High Road by Three Days Grace_**

* * *

Lucian stands in front of the full length mirror in his room, adjusting his tie. As he finishes doing up the buttons on his suit jacket, he spares a mournful glance at the worn trench coat draped over the chair in the corner. He has never really understood his peers' penchant for formality. It's just another reason he has never been a fan of the politics.

He retrieves a cell phone from an inside pocket, checking the screen one last time before depositing it on the side table. Lucian doesn't like not having it on his person, but he can't really take it in to the meeting. It's not like it would do him much good anyway. The old stone walls of this place are not exactly conducive to decent reception.

The Council occupies an ancient castle deep in the Romanian countryside. It is a place the vampires have occupied for centuries and where most of the more important gatherings are held.

There was a time when Lucian would have enjoyed the archaic beauty of the place, the memories it instilled of ages past, but lately it just feels like a prison.

It has been nearly three months since he came to this place and each passing day causes him more frustration than the last. His elders have certainly never been known to make decisions quickly, but he had hoped that they would better grasp the urgency of the situation at hand.

Instead he has been going around and around in circles with them; attending countless meetings, which accomplished little to nothing, and repeating the same information over and over again.

As he sets off down the ornate halls and descends deeper into the old fortress, he hopes that some sort of decision has finally been made, though he isn't counting on it.

He approaches a massive set of double doors with intricate designs carved into the wood and pauses just outside. It still makes him a bit uncomfortable to venture forth unarmed, and he adjusts his suit jacket, missing the familiar weight of the silver stake he normally keeps against his side.

Finally, he releases a breath and reaches for the handle, pulls the door open, and steps inside.

The members of the Council are seated in a line across a raised platform at the head of the large chamber. There are nine members in total; consisting of the oldest and most esteemed of their kind. Even Lucian does not know the exact ages of those present. Only that they have lived centuries longer than himself.

The oldest and wisest by far is Victor, the head of the Council, who sits directly in the center. At his right hand sits the second of their order and the sole female member of the Council. This is Cassandra. It is rumored that she is a direct descendant of the pharaohs of ancient Egypt, and she certainly looks the part with her long ebony hair and dark brown eyes. She is an extraordinarily powerful vampire and compelling leader next to Victor himself and she commands the respect of all who cross her path.

To Victor's left is seated Stefan, the third in rank. His background is distinctly Nordic, though he has never been one to speak of his origins. His soft-spoken behavior belies a fierce cunning and ferocity when the need arises. Those who are wise do well not to mistake his calm and quiet demeanor for weakness. He is one of the strongest in mind and body of his kind.

Lucian closes the door behind him as he enters and approaches the Council, moving to stand in the center directly before Victor.

"Good evening, Lucian," Victor greets at his approach.

"Victor," he answers, inclining his head in a respectful nod. "Councilmen. My lady," he adds, offering Cassandra a short bow which she acknowledges with a regal tilt of the head. "You wanted to see me?"

"We did," Victor replies. "The Council has reached a decision."

Lucian stands a little straighter, his eyes scanning the faces of the various members of the Council, searching for any sign in their unreadable expressions.

"As you are aware, we have been investigating the matter of Edgar Wyndam for quite some time now," Victor continues. "The result of those efforts have proved… inconclusive. Wyndam has done very well to cover his tracks and we believe that he has gone deep into hiding. We will, of course, continue to monitor the situation, however we have all agreed that nothing further need be done at this time."

Lucian stares in shocked silence for a moment, trying to determine if he understood correctly. "With all due respect," he begins, trying to maintain rapport, "that cannot be the Council's final decision. To do _nothing_? Wyndam-"

"Edgar Wyndam is an upstart," Cassandra cuts in. "Nothing more. He made a relatively small play for power and he failed. We see no reason to waste any further efforts in seeking him out."

"We have come to understand that _Herrick_ was responsible for what occurred in Bristol," Stefan adds. "As that problem has been eliminated, thanks in good part to your own efforts, we can see no cause to pursue any further action at this time. That is, unless you have had some new information come to light that you wish to share with us?"

Lucian shakes his head, clenching his jaw in an effort to contain his agitation. "I do not."

"Then consider the matter closed," Victor responds with a finality to his tone.

"Very well," he responds. "I shall respect the Council's decision." He gives a curt nod and turns to depart, but Victor calls him back.

"You have not been dismissed," is the mild reprimand. "There is another matter that we would like to discuss."

Lucian returns to his former place and inclines his head by way of apology, but says nothing, choosing instead to simply wait for Victor to continue.

"It has come to our attention that you appointed John Mitchell to the head of the clan in Bristol as Herrick's replacement. Is this true?"

Lucian fights to keep his expression neutral as he feels as if the floor just dropped out from under him. He was not expecting this to become an issue. "It is," he answers evenly.

"Your reason being?" Victor prompts.

"After we removed Herrick from power, someone needed to take over the clan to restore order."

"And you felt that someone as young and inexperienced as John Mitchell would be equipped to handle such a task?" Stefan interjects. "One who has not been a vampire for a full century? Had you no other options?"

"I felt that he was the right person for the job," Lucian responds matter-of-factly. "In truth, he was one of the few I felt I could trust, given the circumstances, but I believed that Mitchell had the potential to lead them."

"So, you made this decision based on your _faith_ in him?" Cassandra responds, studying him curiously. "That is your reasoning?"

"Yes," he answers firmly, doing his best to hide the building agitation in his voice. "And as far as I have been made aware, he has done much to bring the situation in Bristol under control."

"Not alone," Stefan puts in. "In fact, it is only Ivan's presence that has kept us from interceding in the matter."

"Utilizing the aid of one who is more experienced does not make him any less of a leader," he defends. "Rather, I would say that it proves his quality."

"That does not make his appointment any less of a rash decision on your part," Victor responds. "You assigned the least qualified person the task of taking control of a clan that had descended into absolute chaos. You put _everyone_ at risk. And your only justification for this is that you had faith in his _potential? _Lucian," he leans forward in his seat and his voice softens. "You spent _years_ chasing after Herrick, and now that that threat has been eliminated, you pursue another. I believe that your motivations for this as well as your appointment of John Mitchell to the head of the Bristol clan are the same. You seek to protect your own. You have let your emotions cloud your judgment."

Lucian takes a breath and averts his gaze, choosing instead to stare at a spot on the floor. "What would you have me do?"

There is a pause and Victor studies him intently, his expression unreadable. "Go home," he answers, not unkindly. "Let us decide what needs defending for a while."

* * *

The Council members file out of the chamber in silence but Lucian hangs back, Victor having requested he stay behind. As the last councilman exits, Victor rises from his seat.

"Walk with me," he says with a wave of his hand, heading toward the opposite exit.

The two wander out into the hall and Lucian easily falls into step beside the older man's long strides.

"I know that you are unhappy with our decision," Victor begins. "Especially for the amount of time that you have waited for it."

"I will not argue the will of the Council," he answers simply.

"No." Victor shakes his head, allowing a small smile. "Ever the soldier; you never act against orders. Except, perhaps, where Mitchell is concerned."

Lucian says nothing to this.

"You know, most of them don't understand your attachment," he continues. "Why you feel such a level of responsibility towards him when you are not his Sire."

"I am the one who got him away from Herrick," Lucian answers. "I gave him a second chance. So, yes, I do feel responsible."

Victor nods. "Yes, I suppose that is understandable. Or is it not, as I suspect, more to do with your son?"

Lucian stops in his tracks, taken completely off guard by this statement, and he is suddenly overwhelmed by a flood of memories that he had not allowed himself to think on for centuries. "I hadn't-"

"Thought about it?" Victor nods. "I suspected as much. Lucian," he turns to face him, lowering his voice. "You had lost so much when you first came to us all those years ago. They say that time heals all wounds, but nothing is ever completely forgotten. Not even for those of us who have seen so many ages of this world pass away. No parent should ever have to bury their child, especially one so young as Tristan was. Time may have helped you to forget it in part, but a loss like that leaves a hole. Now I believe that, subconsciously, you have found a way to fill it. Perhaps it was fate that brought you and Mitchell together; you both needed each other. Now, all I am saying is that you need to be cautious. Understand that the past does influence your actions in the present. I think that you fear to lose him as you lost your son. Do not let that fear cloud your judgment. Especially when the decisions that you make impact more than your own life."

Lucian stands in silence, still feeling a little stunned. He simply nods.

"You have been fighting the good fight for a very long time now," Victor continues. "I think it's time to let it rest for a while. Go home, Lucian. Stand watch from there if you must. But I think that it is time to stop running." He reaches out, patting him on the shoulder, and without another word, Victor turns on his heel and heads off in the direction they came, leaving Lucian alone with his thoughts.

* * *

Lucian sits at the gate in the center of a long terminal, waiting to board a flight for London. He didn't have decent enough reception to make any calls before he got to the airport, nor did he have much time, and he decides to try once more before he boards.

When he turns the phone on, the little voicemail icon appears on the screen. He scrolls over the notification, sees the date on the message, and he frowns. It's from yesterday. He presses 'play' and holds the phone to his ear.

Lucian can't help but smile a little as he listens to Mitchell's greeting. He always gets so flustered when he has to leave voicemail. But his amusement soon changes to concern as the message progresses; not only for content of the message itself, but for the fact that Mitchell sounds completely exhausted. That and he knows that whatever he's telling him, the full reality of it is probably worse.

The message ends and Lucian gives it a moment to sink in, staring at the phone in his hand. He presses a few buttons on the keypad and raises the phone to his ear, listening to the ringing on the other line. He heaves a sigh when it goes to voicemail and waits for the tone.

"Mitchell, I got your message. I'm sorry I missed you. I've actually been trying to reach you since last night, but I couldn't get a signal. Listen, there's too much to explain in this message, but the Council finally made a decision about Wyndam. They decided that it isn't worth pursuing at this point. Apparently they don't feel he is enough of a threat," he sighs. "Like I said, we'll talk more about it later. As for the situation there... I wish you had said something sooner. You know I would have understood. In fact, I blame myself. I should never have put you under so much pressure. I see that now and I'm sorry. If you feel that Ivan is a suitable replacement, than I trust your judgment. Personal feelings aside," he laughs. "Anyway, I wanted to tell you; I'm coming home. I'll be boarding a flight for London shortly, so I should be in Bristol within a few hours. Look, we'll figure this out, alright? Don't worry. I'll see you soon."

* * *

A hooded figure moves swiftly through the streets of Totterdown, eyes fixed on the massive structure looming just ahead. As she approaches the doors to the old warehouse, she takes one last look over her shoulder to ensure herself that she hasn't been followed. Satisfied, she pulls open the heavy door and slips inside.

She moves silently through the darkness, vampire eyes guiding her to the end of a long corridor where a single light can be seen beneath the door. She turns the handle and steps inside the back office, blinking at the sudden brightness.

"Were you seen?" asks the man behind the desk.

She shakes her head, brown hair falling loose at her shoulders as she pulls back her hood.

"Good. I would not want to tip them off before we are ready. Now, what news do you bring me?"

"They're meeting tonight. Mitchell has some important announcement to make. He sent for everyone," she answers.

The man smiles. "It looks as if we have the opportunity that we've been waiting for," he says. "Well done, Cara."

"Thank you, sir," she answers, giving an awkward little curtsy. "So what happens now? How do we get in without anyone seeing?"

"You forget, I set Herrick up in that place long before John Mitchell ever set foot inside. I know my way in and out of there better than anyone," he explains. "You just play your part. Leave the rest to me and my men. And please, call me Wyndam. We're in this together now, you and I. Mitchell and his followers will be out of the way soon enough. Then we can both step out in the open."

"And what about Lucian?" Cara asks nervously. "When he finds out about Mitchell, won't he come after us?"

"Oh, don't you worry about him, my dear," he answers. "Lucian will be a thousand miles away when our plan is carried out. And when he does get here, well, you just leave him to me."

Cara smiles.

* * *

Mitchell steps outside into the gathering dark, taking a deep breath of the brisk evening air. He double checks that he has his keys and his phone before pulling the door closed behind him and stepping out onto the street.

As he makes the trek to the funeral parlor, he can't help feeling nervous about the meeting to come. He spent all afternoon rehearsing what he wanted to say and nothing had sounded right. At this point, he has given up over thinking it and just hopes the words will come when it's time. All he knows is that he can't wait to get this whole thing over with.

It is pretty dark by the time he catches sight of the familiar structure and he can already hear a murmur of voices coming from the inside. It sounds like most of them have arrived already. He pauses just outside the door and pulls out his phone one last time. There are no missed calls or messages on the screen and he sighs. He still hasn't heard from Lucian since he left that message last night and he's starting to think maybe he should have put off this meeting until he had. He would feel a lot better about the whole thing if he had gotten the chance to talk to him first, but it's too late now.

Reluctantly, he holds the power button until the phone switches itself off and shoves it back in his pocket. Then he takes a deep breath and opens the door.

As soon as Mitchell steps inside, he is greeted by several of the assembled clan members nearest the door. He pauses to greet them before catching sight of Ivan waving him over from the other side of the room. He excuses himself and winds his way through the crowd, following after Ivan as he leads the way to a back room.

"I thought I would give you another chance to change your mind," says Ivan as he pulls the door closed behind them. "Are you sure you still want to go through with this?"

Mitchell nods, taking a seat in a nearby chair. "I'm sure. I believe it's the right decision. They're much better off with you."

"Very well," he answers. "Have you spoken to Lucian about any of this?"

Mitchell gives him a look, but Ivan simply stares back at him expectantly. He sighs. "I couldn't reach him," he admits, choosing to stare at a spot on the floor. "I'm just going with my instincts on this one."

"You know he's never exactly been my biggest fan," Ivan comments with a smirk. "I just wouldn't want him to think that I pushed you into anything."

"He won't. I'll handle it," he answers. "Believe me, I'm going to have a lot to explain when I finally do get through to him. You just worry about what needs done here."

Ivan nods. "It seems we each have enough to be getting on with then. Come on," he says, patting him on the shoulder. "We'd better get out there."

Mitchell rises from his seat and follows him to the door. "Ivan," he says as the older man reaches for the handle. "Thank you. For everything."

Ivan simply inclines his head, giving him a small smile, and pushes open the door. "After you," he says, and the two step back out into the parlor.

"Ok everyone, listen up," Mitchell calls, gaining the attention of the room as he moves to stand in the center of the crowd with Ivan close behind. "I know you're probably wondering why I asked you all here tonight. This has been… an interesting journey for me over the past couple of months. But as they say, everything has to end sometime…"

As Mitchell continues, Ivan's attention is distracted by a sudden flicker of light at his feet. He tilts his head to one side, looking down into the grate on the floor until he catches sight of red letters glaring up at him from a small screen below that simply spell out 'hello.' He follows the cable attached to the screen with his gaze until they come to an end… attached to a bundle of crude looking explosives nestled in the corner. His eyes widen as the realization dawns and he knows that there is no time for anyone to escape.

"Get down!" he shouts as he throws himself bodily on top of Mitchell, and the pair go crashing to the floor as the explosion tears through building. Then Ivan knows no more.

* * *

It is nearly eleven o'clock when Lucian catches sight of the familiar corner house in Totterdown. As he approaches the door, he can hear a pair of voices conversing in the kitchen. When he knocks on the door, the voices suddenly cease and he can hear the sound of chairs scraping against the floor. He smiles as his vampire hearing makes out the half-whispered argument being held on the other side of the door.

"Let me get it. _Annie!_ You don't know who it is, they may not be able to see you!"

"I want to see who could be calling this late and it's dark outside. I can't look through the window without being obvious."

"It'll be _more_ obvious if you open that door and whoever it is sees _nothing_ on the other side. _Annie!_"

The door bursts open suddenly and Lucian almost laughs at the sight of Andy scrambling after the determined brunette as she stands fully in the doorway.

Brown eyes brighten as Annie takes in the sight before her and she breaks into a wide grin. "Lucian!"

He barely has time to set his bag down before Annie all but throws herself at him, flinging her arms around his neck.

"Hello, Annie," he laughs, returning the hug.

"For goodness sake, Annie, let him get in the door!" Andy says with amusement.

Annie relinquishes her hold, looking a little sheepish. "Sorry," she says, stepping to the side. "Come in!"

Lucian picks up his bag and steps inside, setting it down in the entryway as Annie closes the door behind him. "Hello, Andrew," he says, greeting the younger man with a hug.

"How are you, mate?" he responds, clapping him on the back.

"Just glad to be back," Lucian answers. "And how have you been holding up here?"

"Great," says Andy. "Things have been going good. Well, minus some recent setbacks, but I have hope we'll work it out." He exchanges a glance with Annie who pats him on the arm reassuringly.

"Mitchell never told us you were coming," Annie comments, half for the purpose of changing the subject. "But then, he hasn't said much of anything to any of us lately, so I suppose I shouldn't be surprised."

"I'm afraid you'll have to blame me for that," Lucian responds. "I didn't know I was coming until last night and I haven't been able to reach him. I even tried a couple of times since I landed in London, but it just goes straight to voicemail."

"See!" she says, giving Andy an I-told-you-so sort of look.

Andy suppresses a grin and spares Lucian a sideways glance as if to say, _here it comes._

"He'll have turned it off again," she continues. "I've _told_ him, I said, 'Mitchell, you can set the phone on silent. That way, if there's an emergency or something comes up, we can still reach you.' So what does he do? _He turns off the bloody phone!_ Honestly, Lucian, I hope you'll give him a good talking to about some things when he gets back, because lately I could just _slap_ him."

"Ok, Annie," is the placating response, as he tries not to laugh. "Where is Mitchell, anyway?"

"The funeral parlor," she answers disdainfully. "He spends more time there than he does at home anymore. He said he had some big important meeting to go to tonight. I didn't ask."

Lucian gives an understanding nod. "I think I know," he says. "He called me last night. Unfortunately, the reception was so bad where I was staying that I didn't get the message until I was ready to board the flight to London and I haven't been able to reach him since. Annie, do you know how long ago he left?"

"It's been hours," she responds, her brow creasing as her annoyed expression shifts to one of mild concern. "Actually, now that you mention it, I thought he'd have been back by now. I mean, he acted like he was coming back. But he doesn't always lately."

Lucian nods as he allows this new information to sink in. "Alright," he begins. "Well, listen, I think I should-"

He breaks off as he hears the sound of a key turning more forcefully in the lock than seems necessary, and suddenly the front door flies open, revealing George as he steps inside looking winded. He freezes as he catches sight of the trio standing in the living room and his eyes flick from one to the next like he's counting heads.

"Has Mitchell come home yet?" George asks, and there is a definite edge to his voice. "Has anyone seen him?"

"No," Annie says quietly. "We were just talking-"

"George, what's happened?" Andy cuts in with more urgency than he usually displays.

Lucian glances from one to the other, the tension between them setting him on high alert.

George closes the door behind him and steps into the living room, collapsing into a chair like his legs can't hold him any longer.

Andy crosses the room in a few easy strides and kneels down in front of him. "George?"

"I was finishing out my shift and I happened to pass by one of the television sets in the emergency room," he begins, staring at a spot on the floor. "The news was on. I would have just kept on walking, but the image of the building on the screen caught my eye. I recognized it. It was the funeral parlor where all the vampires meet. Only-" his voice breaks and Andy rests a hand on his knee, urging him to continue. "Only, it looked like a _bomb_ went off. The front of the building was all blown out, the whole place was in flames. I tried calling Mitchell, but he didn't answer. I left work and ran the whole way to the funeral parlor. By the time I got there, it looked mostly cleared out, but the whole place was roped off and I couldn't get near it, so I ran home. I was hoping he'd _be here_." His voice breaks again and he looks up, eyes locking with a pair of steel blue. "Lucian-"

He crosses to George, leaning down to eye level, and drops a hands on his shoulder. "George," he begins gently. "When you got to the scene, did you see anything?"

George shakes his head miserably. "There were still a lot of emergency personnel and people standing around watching. And, like I said, it was all roped off. I couldn't get closer. But I didn't really wait around, I was hoping he had come home."

"Ok." He takes a breath. "Well, we don't know anything for certain. I'm gonna go back there myself. They may have all cleared out by now."

Lucian straightens and heads toward the door, checking the inside pocket of his jacket as he goes.

Andy follows after him. "I'll go with you."

"No," he answers, lowering his voice. "Andrew, I'd feel better if you'd stay and look after the others."

He frowns. "Do you think this could be some sort of attack?"

"I don't know," Lucian responds. "But we can't be too careful. Please, will you look after them?"

Andy nods. "I will."

"Thank you." He glances into the living room where George and Annie are huddled together and it is difficult to tell who is consoling whom. "George, Annie," he calls. "All of you stay inside. Don't worry, I'll find him."

Andy opens the door for him and Lucian steps through. "Good luck," he says, clapping the older man on the shoulder.

Lucian gives him a nod. "Lock the door. Don't answer for anyone you don't absolutely trust."

"Got it."

Lucian steps out onto the pavement as Andy closes the door behind him and he hears the lock turn. He takes a brief moment to get his bearings, allowing all of his vampire senses to fully take over. Then without a single look back, he takes off into the night hoping that he isn't too late.

* * *

**_So how much do you guys hate me right now? Honestly though, blowing them up wasn't my idea, you can blame canon. I just use elements of canon for my own evil devices. ;)_**

**_If you were wondering why I chose Romania as the location for the Council, I don't have much of a reason. I was thinking more east, and then I thought 'Romania,' partly because I do actually have Romanian heritage on my mother's side. Then I realized that Dracula's Castle is in Romania, and it struck me funny. Plus when I googled it I saw lots of other pretty castles. So there you have some insight into how my brain works. :P_**

**_Have I given you a bit more insight into Lucian's character? I have quite a bit of his back-story well thought out in my head, and I'm still deciding when/how I wish to present it in full detail. I probably won't really get into it until the final installment of the series, or I may just do it as a separate one-shot. I haven't decided yet. But I hope this new information gave you a better idea of where he's coming from._**

**_Looking at my reviews from the last chapter I do feel a bit guilty. I got a couple of comments about how much shit Mitchell has been through lately and I sort of cackled maniacally and returned to my evil plans. (BTW, I really have meant to respond to reviews, but I have been writing SO OBSESSIVELY on this that I still haven't gotten around to it because I have a tendency to write novels as responses. So, I just wanted to say, SORRY and just know that I love you all.)_**

**_I am plagued by two types of plot bunnies. There are the evil plot bunnies, which pretty well resemble the Killer Rabbit of Caerbannog, and then there are the fluffy plot bunnies. If you look at my writing, it all pretty much either consists of pain, drama, and angst; or fluff, cuddles, and tickles. There is no in-between. SUFFICE IT TO SAY the evil plot bunnies won this round._**

**_SO how much fluff do you guys need (want) in the next chapter to make up for the pain I have caused? Because I'm still deciding. There will be a fair bit of angst in the next chapter, mind you, BUT I have some ideas for some fluff scenes to balance it out. I'm just not quite certain what the appropriate level of fluff is for this… (I'm biased cuz I like to write it. :3) So let me know!_**

**_Anyway, LONG A/N IS LONG, my apologies. I had a lot to say on this one. :3_**

**_As always, thank you for reading and I thrive on your feedback. _**

**_Expect the next chapter soon! :)_**


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